


General Franco's Gold

by MellowMild



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27417259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowMild/pseuds/MellowMild
Summary: October, 1940. World War II has begun and Germany is marching across Europe, conquering all before it. Spain still stands on the sidelines, but will the newly crowned military leader, General Francisco Franco, drag them into the war on Germany’s side? Raquel Murillo is horrified by the Nazis’ policies, and when she learns that Franco plans to donate a hundred bars of gold to Germany, she decides to steal it. She enlists her friend Mónica’s help to obtain the details of the transfer, determined to scupper the Germany/Spain relationship and stop Spain from fighting another war. But she doesn’t have a clue how to go about stealing something, so she decides to recruit a thief to help her. And she believes she has identified just the man to help her pull off the biggest heist in history.
Relationships: Denver | Daniel Ramos/Mónica Gaztambide, Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 191
Kudos: 406





	1. War

_The whole of Spain has been devastated, no one has the strength anymore to go through that same nightmare again. The only thing the country can do now is weep over its dead and move forward with what little it has left.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_17 October 1940  
_ _Madrid  
_ Raquel Murillo listened to the men talk, swirling the wine in her glass and smiling dutifully whenever her husband made a joke at her expense and laughed uproariously. Alberto had invited his Police and military cronies for a soiree, and she was the only woman present. He insisted that she play hostess, but she suspected he only wanted her there to belittle her. He did not like being challenged and she had been stupid enough to do just that the previous night. As her gaze landed on him her eye began to throb again, although she was aware that it was psychosomatic rather than real. She had done her best to cover up the bruise, but she knew that Ángel, at least, had still noticed. But then her husband’s subordinate was bound to, seeing how closely he always watched her. He was in love with her, had told her so many times, and couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t leave her abusive husband for him. But even if she wanted to she would never take him up on his offer, for a multitude of reasons. He was married, for one, and she couldn’t do that to another woman – take her husband away from her. Besides, she wasn’t in love with Ángel. He was a good friend, someone to lean on in hard times, but not the man she pictured herself with for the rest of her life. And she couldn’t leave Alberto just yet - she needed his access to the advisors of Spain’s military dictator, General Francisco Franco, at this crucial stage of political developments in the world.

As if prompted by her thoughts, the talk of the men turned to the situation in Europe. Adolf Hitler and his awe-inspiring German war machine was overrunning the continent and was currently involved in a fierce air battle with Britain. That island was the last bastion still standing, resisting stubbornly, aided by the stretch of water between it and mainland Europe which prevented the Germans from employing their fearsome _blitzkrieg_ strategy and overpowering their opponents through sheer numbers and military machinery. It was an uncertain, dangerous time, and Raquel had escorted her mother and daughter to family living in Lisbon at the first opportunity, as its southern location put it out of reach of the German forces for now, and thus far Portugal maintained a neutral stance in the war. So did Spain, of course, but it was tenuous and could change at any moment. To a large extent, Franco owed his victory in the recent Spanish civil war to Germany, and that meant that he could be manipulated into entering the war on Germany’s side. No, her family was safer in Portugal, from where escape to Britain or North Africa would be much easier should the need arise.

“Hitler is grinding the English into the dust with his bombs.” The statement had been made by Colonel Luis Prieto, who she knew enjoyed a close relationship with the military dictator, and the thought seemed to amuse him. Alberto looked at her and she gritted her teeth in an effort to keep her mouth shut – airing her opinions on the political situation had earned her the black eye she was currently sporting. She had no desire to provoke him again, and he smirked.  
“Raquel thinks Herr Hitler will overreach and lose the war as a result,” he sneered, and all eyes turned to her in astonishment. “She said – get this – she said it would be a mistake for Spain to enter the war on the Führer’s side!” Loud laughter erupted and Raquel felt heat push up her face. She carefully kept her gaze down, aware that if any of these men caught sight of the look in her eyes they’d realise it was a flush of anger rather than embarrassment, and that she could not have. Let them think that she was stupid and weak; that would only be to her advantage.  
“Ha! Women don’t understand the complexities of politics,” Prieto declared, shaking his head. “That’s why it was such a mistake by the Republican government to let them vote. Thank God that the Nationalists won the civil war - Franco will soon set things right.”  
She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. What a fucking misogynist Prieto was. But he was a close advisor of Franco and perhaps the best man to get the information she so desperately wanted from. She shook the hair from her face and smiled sweetly. “So you think Franco will enter Spain into the war, then?” she asked, and held her breath, hoping the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed would loosen his tongue.  
“Ah, well,” he said, puffing out his chest, revelling in his importance, then tapped the side of his nose. “Let’s just say that it would be stupid to sit on the sidelines while Germany and Italy divvy up Europe between them, eh?”

As the men toasted this statement and drank, Raquel retreated into herself, lost in thought. So it was true; Franco was really going to do it. Spain would enter the war as part of Germany’s Axis Powers and pile even more misery on its citizens. They had just emerged from a brutal civil war and now the new dictator was going to send them back into another armed conflict. She felt her chest tighten with anxiety. Besides the impact on Spain, there were bigger implications to consider; implications that touched on the future of Europe and basic human decency. Adolf Hitler was a brute – a psychopath; she had heard the whispers about what he was doing to the Jews. And Spain was going to align itself with this madman and increase the pressure on Britain and its Allied Forces, who were trying to stem the tide. She looked at the men milling about the room, strutting around in their uniforms like peacocks, drunk on the vision of more armed conflict. What the fuck was it with the male species and its romanticisation of war?

She was so caught up in these thoughts that she didn’t realise Alberto was talking to her, and he grabbed hold of her wrist and squeezed painfully, an unpleasant expression on his face. Her eyes jumped to his, flooded with fear, and she could see the satisfaction that brought him. She clamped her mouth shut to prevent a whimper from escaping, determined not to give him the gratification.  
“I said, we’ll have dinner now,” he repeated, watching her as his hand closed around her flesh even tighter and pain shot up her arm.  
She swallowed and forced a smile. “Sorry. Of course. Right away.”  
He let go, happy with her submissive response, and she scurried out of reach and towards the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight she stopped and leant against the wall, rubbing her arm. It was going to bruise – yet another one that she would have to cover up. It was as she stood there that she heard the men continue their conversation.  
“Do you really think we’re going to enter the war?” Ángel asked, and Prieto laughed.  
“Eventually. The General is preparing a present for the Führer, a first step towards buying us a slice of the cake…”  
The voices faded as they moved out onto the terrace, and she walked slowly towards the kitchen, deep in thought.

-0-

_18 October  
_ The next morning the country woke to the news that General Franco had replaced Foreign Minister Juan Beigbeder Atuenza, a known Anglophile, with his pro-German brother-in-law, Ramón Serrano Súñer, and she knew that Prieto had been right – their military leader planned to drag them into the war, and her mind was made up. It was time to act. The first step she took was to visit her friend at the Royal Mint Factory. Mónica Gaztambide was the secretary of the Director of the Mint, Arturo Román, who she also happened to be sleeping with. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be her. Mónica looked up from her typewriter when she heard heels tapping across the floor, and smiled broadly when she saw who it was. “Raquel! How are you?” she asked, rounding the desk to envelop the other woman in a hug. Raquel hugged her back tightly.  
“I’m good, and you?”  
They held each other at arms’ length, and Mónica’s face clouded over when she saw the bruise beneath the make-up at the corner of Raquel’s eye. “Oh, Raquel,” she sighed, but her friend shook her head.  
“I don’t want to talk about that now, alright?” she pleaded, and Mónica succumbed after a slight hesitation. “Rather tell me about you; how goes it with you?”  
Mónica smiled uncertainly and glanced around, making sure there was no-one within earshot. “Actually, I received some news yesterday and I’m not sure what to think of it.” Raquel cocked her head, inviting Mónica to continue. “I, uh…” The blonde took a deep breath and then said in a rush, “I’m pregnant.”

Raquel’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, Mónica.” She watched her companion as she thought about what to say. She had never liked Mónica’s relationship with the Director – he was a smarmy jerk with an inflated ego and on top of that he was married, and she felt her friend could do a lot better; but if Mónica was really in love with him, she didn’t want to be too critical. “How do you feel about it?” she probed delicately, and to her surprise tears gathered in Mónica’s eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She took Mónica’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  
“I told Arturo this morning, and he-“ She couldn’t continue, too overcome, and Raquel could guess what had happened.  
“He didn’t want to know anything about it, did he?”  
Mónica shook her head and Raquel gathered her into her arms once more. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. She was not surprised, though; she had always known that Arturo Román would never upset his comfortable life and leave his wife for his mistress. He wanted his cake and eat it, too, like so many other men. “What are you going to do?” she asked and Mónica pulled back, wiping the tears from her cheeks.  
“He wants me to get rid of it.”  
“An abortion?” Raquel queried, alarmed. Such things could be done, but because it was illegal and not regulated there were many hacks operating, and lots of women died as a result. “Is that what you want?”  
“What option do I have?” Mónica exclaimed, her despair evident. “If I don’t, I’ll get fired, and you know as well as I do that a woman with an illegitimate child has no prospects. How am I going to survive?”

She was right, and Raquel rubbed her arm consolingly as she thought it over. The plan that had been growing in her mind since the previous night came to the fore once more; only now it could have more than its original intended purpose. “There may be a way out,” she said slowly, and Mónica looked at her questioningly. “Listen. Has anything happened here recently – any unusual activity?”  
The secretary frowned. “What do you mean by ‘unusual’?”  
“I don’t know; a visit from one of Franco’s close advisors, perhaps, or an official written instruction from his office?”  
“Well, there was-“ She stopped talking and took a step back, eyeing Raquel apprehensively. “That’s confidential information.”  
“I know.” Raquel watched her unflinchingly, and Mónica shifted uncomfortably.  
“What is this, Raquel? What are you doing?”  
It was Raquel’s turn to look around, to make sure no-one was about. If someone overheard now, it would ruin everything before it had even started. She moved closer to Mónica and lowered her voice. “Alberto had his military friends over last night, and I overheard them talking. Franco plans to drag us into the war in Europe, on Hitler’s side. It will be disastrous, not only for Spain, but for Europe in general. If Germany wins this war, we will all become victims of the mad German dictator and his horrible views on the human race.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“He is rounding up Jews in every country he occupies, Mónica, and putting them in concentration camps. They are being killed by the hundreds, possibly thousands, all because they are not part of his idea of a superior Germanic race. Who’s going to be next? Spaniards are hardly the blonde, blue-eyed poster boys for this race he deems superior. He has to be stopped, and we must prevent Franco from helping him in any way we can.”

Mónica stared at her in bewilderment. “What can we – two women – possibly do?”  
Raquel smiled grimly. “Colonel Prieto said Franco is preparing a present for Hitler. I think that means he intends to help Germany with money, or possibly gold. If we can find out what he intends to do, we can put a stop to it.”  
“How?”  
“By stealing whatever he plans to give to the Germans, and using it to finance new lives for ourselves.”  
Mónica guffawed in disbelief and turned away, her hand in her hair. “Steal it? Are you mad?” But after a beat she added, “We don’t have the first clue how to go about doing that,” and it told Raquel that her friend was not totally opposed to the idea.  
“We can recruit someone with the necessary, uhm, experience to help us,” she argued and Mónica swung back to her, shocked and a little fascinated.  
“You mean… A thief?” Raquel said nothing, simply watched her, and Mónica slumped into a chair. “Where would we even find an unsavoury character like that?”  
“Through Alberto,” Raquel supplied and Mónica’s head whipped round to her.  
“Alberto knows what you’re thinking of doing?!”  
“Of course not – one of the reasons I’m doing this is to obtain the money to get away from him,” Raquel assured, and Mónica heaved out a heavy breath. “But he is a policeman who often brings his files home and doesn’t bother to lock them away, because he thinks his wife is too stupid to want to read them.”  
Monica began to smile. “But you have read them, I take it.”  
“Yes I have, and on many occasions I’ve identified the culprit long before he did,” Raquel divulged, getting momentarily side-tracked. “I would have made an excellent detective, you know, if they allowed women to become police officers.”  
Mónica grinned at the confidence of her friend. “Mm-hmm, I’ve no doubt. And…”  
“Oh, right. And I’ve identified just the man we need.” She stepped closer to Mónica once more. “If you can find out what Franco intends to give Hitler, I’ll recruit this thief to help us. And with the spoils of the heist we can both get away from our rotten lives and start afresh somewhere new. What do you say, Mónica? Don’t you want to escape?”

Mónica was quiet for almost a minute, and the longer the silence stretched out, the more convinced Raquel became that the other woman would say no. But when her eyes finally met Raquel’s again, there was conviction in them, and also a hint of excitement. “I already know what he plans to give Hitler. Arturo was instructed to prepare for the transport of a hundred bars of gold.”

-0-

Raquel took the second step that very evening. She left the house at dusk, claiming that the fish she’d bought for dinner that morning had gone off and she had to go out and find something else, and quickly made her way to the small park around the corner from their house. There were a few people about, enjoying the last of the daylight or exercising their dogs, and as she made her way along the path that ran down the centre one of the dogs came up to her, wagging its tail excitedly. It was a big Alsatian but it was friendly, and she stopped to scratch it behind the ear. “Hello, Pamuk. How are you today?” she said affectionately, tugging its collar back into position before straightening up once more, and slipping a note under it as she did so. “Off you go, now. Back to your master,” she ordered, and watched it lope off to her right, where a man was sitting on a bench, reading the newspaper. The dog settled on its haunches next to him, its tongue lolling out, and she moved on hurriedly. Alberto would not like it if she stayed out too long.

-0-

_19 October  
_ Sergio Marquina strolled slowly down the street, his hat pulled low over his eyes. He was in one of the affluent neighbourhoods and the street was lined with imposing mansions. He was interested in number 33, about halfway down the block, and he was just about to come up to it. Behind his glasses his gaze was keen, noting the increased security measures since he last looked at it, before… Before Andrés got himself arrested in that hairbrained scheme his friend Martín had talked him into. That had been two months ago, and Sergio wasn’t sure how he would pull off his own plan now – to steal Goya’s _The Nude Maja_ painting from this mansion. Andrés was always the front man, the suave swindler who could charm the rosary from a nun, and without him Sergio had no idea how to get access. In the two months that had passed the owner had added extra guards and even barbed wire on top of the wall, which made Sergio wonder whether he had somehow got wind of the plan to steal the famous painting. But perhaps he was only trying to keep out the many hungry, desperate people that roamed the capital’s streets, looking for food. As he turned to leave he knelt down to fasten his shoelace, taking the opportunity to glance behind him to check whether he was being followed. It was a dangerous time to be caught where you shouldn’t be. The streets of the capital were not only teeming with Falangists, General Franco’s militant supporters, but also with a good number of the Gestapo, the German Secret Police, who were ostensibly there to aid the new Spanish government. Thankfully there was no-one, just a dog that walked slowly after him. It was not only people that were struggling to survive after the civil war - there were lots of stray animals around as well, whose owners had either been killed or jailed. He gave it no further thought as he straightened up and continued on, constantly checking his surroundings. One had to be careful under this new military dictatorship – they came down hard on anyone that stepped out of line.

When he reached the building in which he had a small apartment the dog was still there, following him with its tail hung low, and he felt vaguely guilty for not giving it anything as he entered and trod slowly up the stairs. He put it out of his mind and considered what he had seen at the targeted mansion. By the time he reached his own door he had made up his mind; he would postpone the Goya heist. Something about the situation was not right, and he was not foolish enough to ignore his gut feeling. He would not make the same mistake his brother and Martín had. He sighed and moved over to the window, looking out over the small courtyard below. Life had become difficult since the civil war, and he wondered how many of those that had so ferociously fought against the Republicans now regretted it. All they had achieved was to replace one unfair governing system with another; those who had hoped for more freedom under the new regime had been sorely disappointed. The common people were still being sucked dry; it was only the faces who did it that had changed. And then, of course, there was the war raging in the rest of Europe. A lot of Spanish had gone to join the French Resistance fighting against the Germans, and he could understand that. He was no fan of the type of fascism Hitler stood for, and he feared that Franco would join forces with the Nazi leader sooner or later.

He turned away and his eye fell on his brother’s coat still hanging by the door, and he wondered how Andrés was. His brother was ill; apparently with the same unknown and untreatable disease that had taken their mother when Sergio had been only two. He couldn’t remember much of her, but Andrés, quite a few years older, had recognised the symptoms as soon as they started to appear. Perhaps he should risk visiting his brother in jail; who knows how much longer he would last? Sergio removed his glasses and pinched his nose wearily. Andrés had made him swear that he would stay away – they had been stealing together for years and had no idea whether the police might be on the lookout for Sergio as well. No, he couldn’t go, it was too risky, but he resolved to send someone he trusted, with a message of support. There was a knock on the door and he froze; he had no friends or relatives other than Andrés. He briefly contemplated fetching the pistol hidden beneath the floorboards in the bedroom, but almost instantly dismissed it. He wouldn’t be able to shoot anyone, anyway – he disliked violence and always tried to pull off his heists without hurting anyone. Maybe it was the old lady living next door, needing help with some menial task again.

He put his glasses back on and opened the door a crack. “Yes?” he queried, looking out cautiously, and to his surprise a woman stood there. Small and slim, elegantly dressed, with long hair streaked with gold. She glanced around nervously and he belatedly noticed a shadow hovering behind her; a large man in a long overcoat with his hat pulled low over his brow, and at his side a familiar dog.  
“Sergio Marquina?” the woman inquired, her voice low, as though she was afraid someone would overhear. Then, without waiting for a response she added, “Good day, sir. My name is Raquel Murillo, and I have a proposition for you. Do you think my friend and I can come in?”

_tbc_


	2. Negotiation

_If I’d been able to see beyond his flesh and bones, I’d have watched his brain getting into gear – weighing up my proposal, discounting possibilities, analysing and deciding.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_19 October 1940  
_ _Madrid  
_ All Raquel could see through the crack in the door was one brown eye behind glasses, half a cheek covered by beard, and a flop of dark hair falling over the forehead above the eye. The eye regarded her suspiciously and she was glad for the reassuring presence of the big man behind her; this was one of the less salubrious neighbourhoods in Madrid and a lone woman could easily fall prey to an unscrupulous opportunist. The thief behind the door was frozen in place and she was beginning to fear that he was about to slam it in her face. She cast around for something to say, anything that would get them inside, and a flash of inspiration came to her. “I can help you get your brother out of jail,” she added, and the eye blinked twice, rapidly. A second later it disappeared and the door swung open.

Sergio stood aside and let the two strangers and the dog inside. He wasn’t sure why he did so; perhaps it was the barely concealed desperation radiating from the woman, or the purple bruise he could see encircling her wrist, finger-shaped and angry-looking. _Raquel Murillo_. The name did not ring any bells; it wasn’t one of the old aristocracy or the new military elite that had taken up residence in Madrid since the end of the civil war. The man took off his hat once inside and his hair fell to his collar, but Sergio was sure he had never seen him before. The only one he recognised was the dog; it was the same one that had followed him home earlier. She had called him by his real name and fear flooded him; no-one was supposed to know who he was - he had never registered with any official office for papers. “Excuse me,” he said diffidently, pushing his glasses up his nose, “but I think you’ve got the wrong address, madam. I don’t know any Sergio Marquina. My name is Salvador – Salvador Martín.”

He had false papers to back that up, but he didn’t want to appear to be protesting too much, so he didn’t offer them. The information did not have the desired effect, though. The woman smiled, a secretive, satisfied smile, and she tilted her head as she observed him. Her eyes were a gorgeous hazel colour, warm and friendly, and he stared at her uneasily. She was beautiful and it unnerved him; unlike his brother he had never been good at dealing with the opposite sex. Andrés had been married five times, whilst Sergio, at the age of forty, had not managed even one. In fact, he’d barely managed any romantic relationship worth mentioning, and now he was on the back-foot.  
“Mm,” she said, her gaze frank and open, “I will call you Salva if you prefer, but we both know that’s not your name.”  
“Excuse me,” he repeated, flustered, “but I-“  
“You are Sergio Marquina, and your half-brother Andrés de Fonollosa is currently incarcerated in prison here in Madrid.”  
He swallowed. How the hell did she know all that? “Who are you?” he asked fearfully; was this it, was this the day his luck finally ran out? Unlike his brother, who had been arrested a few times, Sergio had thus far managed to avoid that fate.  
The woman sobered. “Like I said, my name is Raquel Murillo. You have nothing to fear from me, I’m not here to blow your cover or anything like that. I am here because I have a business proposition for you, one that has the potential to make us both very rich.”

There was a long silence as they weighed each other up. Trust did not come easily in these times – everyone in Madrid seemed to watch everyone else, and it was not uncommon for people to denounce their own family members for not supporting the new regime. She was about his age and close-up he could see a weariness in her face, a jadedness that told him that she had not led a gilded, easy life. Despite her assuredness, he could sense an anxiety simmering just beneath the surface, as though her confident façade would crumble if one scratched too deep. He wondered whether that had something to do with the bruise on her wrist, and his gaze flickered to it once more. She noticed, and immediately tugged her sleeve down over it, hiding it from view. “What makes you so sure that I am this Marquina fellow you keep mentioning?” he asked, laying down a challenge, and she accepted it with a glint in her eye.  
“May we sit down, then I’ll explain everything to you?”  
After a slight hesitation he nodded, and they went through to the sitting room. She looked around before moving over to the small sofa and perching herself primly on the edge, deliberately avoiding the chair positioned by the window, the one he always sat in. She was observant; she must have realised it was his favourite chair from the books stacked on the small table next to it. The large man moved to the side of the door and leant against the wall, and the dog laid down at his feet. Sergio’s gaze fixed on him.  
“Who’s your friend?”  
Raquel looked up from where she was digging in her purse. “You can call him Marseille,” she said, “and he’s simply here for my protection.”

It wasn’t a very satisfactory explanation but Sergio let it go for now, watching in bemusement as she pulled a pencil from her purse and proceeded to tie her long hair into a bun with it. Then she took a breath and looked him straight in the eye. “I saw that you noticed the bruise on my wrist,” she began, and he inclined his head in confirmation. “It’s my husband’s doing,” she divulged, her voice threatening to wobble with emotion, and he felt a rush of empathy for her. “He hits me too, sometimes,” she added, and his heart constricted at the pain in her eyes. “And I want very much to escape from him, to start a new life somewhere far away from here. But for that I need money.” She smiled sadly, and he let her talk on without interruption. “My husband is Alberto Vicuña, and he is a senior detective in the Madrid police,” she told him, and he straightened in alarm. But she held up a hand. “He knows nothing of you, I assure you,” she promised, and he shifted uncomfortably, uncertain whether to believe her. “He’s not a very good detective,” she added laconically, “but he brings his paperwork home and I like to read it to alleviate the boredom of being a mere housewife. He worked on the Romano jewel heist case and that’s how I figured out who you are.”

His gaze hardened at this revelation, before he shuttered it away again, but she had seen it. It was a timely reminder that he was not quite as harmless as he pretended to be.  
“No-one was ever arrested for that,” he pointed out, apparently abandoning his attempts to deny his real identity, and she nodded in agreement. “I know; my husband was in charge of the case. He never managed to crack it.”  
“But you have?”  
“I think so, yes. You and De Fonollosa did it, along with five other men and two women.”  
She was spot-on and he stared at her, impressed. He and Andrés had pulled of the jewel heist a year ago and had got away scot-free. So she had managed what the Police couldn’t… He tilted his head; what a fascinating woman she was turning out to be. He had never met anyone like her and couldn’t help but enjoy her admission about snooping through her husband’s papers. “So you identified me from these papers, but he never did?” he asked, unable to hide his admiration. “Perhaps you should have been the detective, not him.”  
She smiled wryly. “Yes, well. Women are not allowed to join the Police Force, as you well know.”  
“Hmm. Luckily for me, apparently,” he said, and for a moment they looked at each other, finding an unexpected connection. “Mind telling me exactly how you figured it out?”

She nodded happily enough, and he got the impression she didn’t get much chance to showcase her obvious intelligence. That Vicuña fellow seemed to be an idiot in many ways.   
“A big job like that would have required months of preparation,” she began, “so I talked to the women working in the cafés in the area, and to the paperboys.” She smiled at him. “People tend to forget about their presence and talk more freely than they should.”  
His thoughts went back to the four months they spent in Toledo, preparing for the heist, and remembered a night a few days before the event, when they went to a local café for a celebratory dinner.  
“The paperboys remembered seeing two men walk by the villa on a regular basis some months before the heist, but then never saw them again after. I got them to describe the faces so I could sketch them, and then I took those drawings and showed them around the cafes. One waitress remembered the two men visiting as part of a bigger group, and she overheard one calling the other ‘little brother’ on one occasion. And when your brother was arrested a few months ago, I recognised him from those drawings and learnt his name. After that it was simply a question of working back through his life until I found you in the birth records of the hospital in San Sebastián.”

Holy shit, it was quite a feat of investigation she had just laid out for him. “You did all of that out of boredom?” he asked in amazement, but she shook her head.  
“No. I did it because I hoped that one day I would find a way out of the mess my life has become, and I knew I would need help when that day came.”  
“What kind of help?”  
She looked him straight in the eye. “That of a master-thief, to help me steal a hundred bars of gold from the Spanish Royal Mint.”  
He almost choked on his own spit. “Excuse me?!”  
Raquel smiled sympathetically, aware that she had dropped quite a bombshell. They lived under a military dictatorship, after all, and the regime was bound to come down hard on anyone stealing from it. If they got caught there would be no mercy, of that she was sure, especially as the dictator in question intended to use the gold to buy favour from Adolf Hitler. But of that, or the fact that her main motivation for the heist was to scupper Spain’s relationship with the German Führer, the thief must never know, because these facts escalated the act from a mere criminal act to treason. So she merely repeated, “I want the mastermind behind the Romano jewel heist to help me steal a hundred bars of gold from the government.”  
He stared at her in disbelief. “You’re mad… How the hell are we supposed to do that? The Mint is one of the most heavily guarded buildings in Madrid.”  
She regarded him evenly. “Indeed. But I happen to know the gold will be moved in the near future.”  
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do you know this?”  
“I know, Mr Marquina, because my husband likes to invite his high-ranking military friends over for dinner, and they do not deem it necessary to watch what they’re saying in the presence of a mere housewife.”

It was the second time she had used that word to describe herself, and she could not hide the bitterness that came with it. He could understand her resentment – she was obviously highly intelligent, and to be reduced to a mere housekeeper must be galling, especially if one’s husband resorted to physical violence in an effort to exert his superiority. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. But what she was suggesting was sheer lunacy. “Mrs Vicuña-” he began, but she interrupted sharply.  
“Murillo.” He frowned and she took a breath. “I’m not that man’s property, so don’t address me by his name,” she instructed, and he gave in to her wish with a single nod.  
“Mrs Murillo,” he amended, “I’m not sure you understand the dangers of what you are proposing.” Her eyes flashed in anger and he belatedly realised that he had just insulted her intelligence in the exact same way her husband must be doing on a regular basis and hastened to appease her. “I say that simply because I presume that you have never operated outside of the law, and you might underestimate the risks in this current climate we are living in-” He stopped talking, aware that he was only digging himself into an even deeper hole and smiled contritely. “I’m making it worse, aren’t I?”  
His willingness to admit that seemed to have the desired effect and she relaxed. He wasn’t refusing outright and she viewed that as a good sign. Perhaps it meant that she had kindled his interest. “I’m afraid so, yes.” And then she turned serious again. “I understand the risks, believe me. We are living under an authoritarian government, and I know how harshly they deal with criminals. And because of what we plan to steal, I know there will be no mercy if we get caught.” She smiled at him. “Which is why I’m here. I believe that you are my best chance of pulling this off without getting caught. I mean, that Romano jewel heist – it was a work of art, it really was.”

They studied each other, trying to see beyond the mask that all people wear, to get to the real person hiding behind it. He saw a beautiful, intelligent woman with an appreciation for his work, his skills, looking for a way out of her abusive marriage. If he could help her do that and get rich in the process, that would be a very satisfactory outcome, he realised. And she saw a shy, awkward man that she knew had a brilliant mind, and whose sweet smile she rather liked. They made a strange pair, but there was something beneath the surface that seemed to bind them together; a recognition of a shared loneliness, a desire to change their circumstances for the better. And perhaps it was that that made him say, “You said you could help me get my brother out of jail?”, and she knew then that she had his interest, that there was a chance that he would help her.  
“Yes.” She hesitated, filled with visions of the two thieves disappearing as soon as De Fonollosa was sprung from prison, so she asked, “Can I trust you?”  
He regarded her steadily. “I am a man of my word, Mrs Murillo,” he stated simply, and she nodded, somehow knowing he meant it.  
“Call me Raquel,” she smiled, and he acknowledged the invitation with a slight nod.  
“Sergio,” he reciprocated, and she couldn’t suppress the urge to tease him.  
“Ah. Not Salva?”  
He was taken aback for a second, and then he laughed. “No. Sergio,” he repeated and stuck out his hand, and she took it without hesitation. They shook solemnly, and she got down to business.

“Your brother is ill, I understand,” she began, and his face clouded over.  
“Yes.”  
She frowned, caught off-guard by the sadness that enveloped him. “I’m sorry, I don’t have details – is it serious, then?” She didn’t mention that she had suspected that De Fonollosa was faking something; a lot of prisoners did that in an attempt to get more leniency from the prison authorities.  
Sergio nodded. “Yes. We don’t know what it is, but our mother had the same symptoms and no-one could find a treatment that worked.” He hesitated before adding, “She died within a year of getting sick.”  
Raquel’s heart went out to him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, feeling bad about her cynicism towards the sick man. Without thinking she reached out to squeeze his hand and his eyes jumped to her, startled, before he withdrew from her touch. “Uhm, anyway, I know that they are going to transport him to hospital in two days’ time for a check-up.” He straightened up, interested, and she added, “I can get you the exact time of his appointment.”  
He leant back, thinking about it, before he began to smile. He was sure that he could spring his brother from a hospital; if there was one thing he had extensive experience with, it was hospitals. “Can you also get me the doctor’s name?” he asked, and she nodded without hesitation. He sat forward again with a satisfied expression, a plan already forming, and looked at her. “Good. Now tell me everything you know about the gold.”

Raquel took a moment to order her thoughts. “One of my husband’s military friends mentioned that his unit was approached to provide a security detail for the transport. He said they are waiting for the details to be finalised by the Director of the Mint.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily and she was rather pleased with herself.  
“Did he mention where they’ll be taking it?” Sergio queried, and she shook her head.  
“No. I got the impression the military will only be told the destination once they arrive at the Mint to escort the convoy.”  
“I see,” he responded, then gestured for her to continue.  
She looked at him triumphantly. “The secretary of the Director of the Royal Mint is a friend of mine, and she confirmed that her boss is preparing for the transport of a hundred gold bars.”  
Sergio’s interest was well and truly piqued. A hundred gold bars were a fortune; in the current war economy in particular. Even if they had to divide it between ten people they would all still walk away fabulously rich – more than enough to escape their dreary lives here in Spain and get away to somewhere exotic. “And this friend of yours, will she be able to tell us exactly when and how the gold will be transported?” he probed, and Raquel nodded decisively.  
“Oh yes.”  
“And you trust her?” he checked, and she smiled mirthlessly in response.  
“Believe me, she has a very good reason for betraying her boss. Yes, I trust her completely.”

He thought about it. It was audacious and risky, but with enough information he believed it was doable, and the first spark of excitement ignited in the pit of his stomach. Not only would he walk away a very rich man if they managed to pull it off, but he would also have given the repressive regime they were now living under a kick in the nuts, and that thought appealed to him almost more than the riches. So he stood and said, “Alright, Raquel, I will help you figure out a way to steal the gold.”

_tbc_


	3. Escape

_One of the effects of being crazily, obsessively in love is that it dulls your senses, your capacity for perception, till you no longer notice what is happening around you.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_20 October  
_ _Madrid  
_ It was mid-morning as Raquel made her way to Police headquarters, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Everything hinged on what she was about to do, and she was damn nervous. Alberto did not like her to visit him at work; he claimed he did not want to expose her to the criminals he dealt with, but she suspected he did not want her to cramp his style with the female secretaries. She was certain that he was sleeping around, using his position of authority to trick the younger women in the office into having sex with him. It was humiliating and she knew that people were probably laughing at her behind her back, but other than that she didn’t particularly care. They could have him, especially if it meant that he was less likely to want to have sex with her. He wasn’t a good lover – he was rough and selfish and she didn’t enjoy having intercourse with him; she only did it because refusing was more than likely to earn her a few slaps.

She stood across the street from the imposing building for a few minutes, watching the comings and goings. In these times there were a lot of faces she didn’t know, and their red armbands with the swastika marked them out as members of the Gestapo. It made her uneasy; Spaniards she understood and could deal with, but these foreigners, these Nazis, she did not understand. She could not fathom their fanaticism, their blind belief in their Führer, and their willingness to follow his abominable orders to persecute the Jews. She pondered whether there was some way to enter the building without Alberto knowing about it, but she couldn’t think of any. She knew her husband was popular among his colleagues, that his machismo swagger gave him an appeal in the police environment that she didn’t really comprehend. And then, just as she steeled herself to cross the street, fortune smiled on her for once. Ángel exited the building with two constables, and she seized her opportunity.

“Ángel!” she called, darting between the sparse traffic to the other side of the street, and he looked up in surprise. It turned to joy as soon as his eyes landed on her, and he dismissed the other two men with a curt order to “go and secure the scene”.  
“Raquel, hello. What are you doing here?”  
She smiled up at him, trying to play on his feelings for her. She hated using him like this, but desperate times called for desperate measures. There was a lot more at stake here than their friendship, or his opinion of her. “I, uhm, I wondered whether you might like to have lunch with me tomorrow.” She allowed sadness to seep into her voice. “I could really use someone to talk to.” It was a calculated risk; she knew that Andrés de Fonollosa’s hospital visit was scheduled for the next day, and she knew that Ángel, as the arresting officer, would be in charge of escorting him there. She hoped that the visit might interfere with her invitation to lunch, and that she could use that to wangle the actual time of the hospital visit from him.  
His face lit up, then clouded over a second later. “I have to escort a prisoner to hospital tomorrow – I’m not sure I’ll be back by lunch,” he said dejectedly, and her heart-rate sped up.  
“Oh. What time is the appointment?” she asked, trying her best to look disappointed.  
“It’s at eleven, but you know what the Princess Hospital is like – they make you wait for hours sometimes,” he responded, not suspecting a thing.  
 _My God, it’s working_ , she thought, frowning up at him. “Yes. I do some charity work there, remember?”  
“Ah yes, of course,” Ángel smiled, “how could I forget that sumptuous banquet last month?”  
“Mm. We raised enough money for a new x-ray machine. Doctor Asensio was particularly pleased. Are you going to see him?” she asked as casually as she could, and Ángel shook his head.  
“No. The guy in internal medicine – González.”  
That was it – everything she needed. “Oh. I don’t know him,” she said, then shrugged sadly. “Ah well, maybe some other time, then?” and said her goodbyes before hurrying off.

-0-

Sergio paced his apartment, waiting for word. Time was of the essence and it was difficult to curb his impatience. On top of that he could not help but feel a healthy dose of scepticism, unsure that this woman, Raquel Murillo, would be able to get the information he needed. She was obviously resourceful – she had proven that by finding him – but this was something different. This required milking a policeman for information, and it wouldn’t be quite so easy as getting information from barmaids and paperboys. She was a fascinating woman, the policeman’s wife, and he found himself hoping that she would succeed, not only so that he could free his brother, but also so that there would be a reason to see her again. For the first time in his life he felt interest in a woman, a frisson in his belly when he thought of her, and it disturbed him. He had always been adamant that personal relationships should be avoided during his heists; he was a firm believer that emotional entanglement was nothing but a distraction and would endanger the chances of success. How many times had he preached to Andrés about it, whenever his brother had tried to drag his latest paramour onto one of their jobs? And now here he was, thinking about Raquel Murillo in a not-entirely-professional sense. A policeman’s wife, of all people. It was madness, and he should be careful. What they planned to do was already exceedingly risky; he could not afford any distractions. He would simply have to ignore any attraction he might feel towards her. He was good at that, at controlling his feelings, wasn’t he? It shouldn’t be too hard…

There was a tap at the door and he strode over. He opened it cautiously, making sure there were no surprises waiting on the other side, but it was only the big man and the dog from yesterday. The man handed him a folded newspaper with a short nod, before turning on his heel and disappearing down the stairs without a word. He had not even given Sergio the chance for a greeting. He shut the door and folded open the paper, to find a note stuck between the pages. The handwriting on it was elegant and flowing, and he admired it for a second before focussing on the message. It was short and to the point: _Princess Hospital, 11:00, Internal Medicine floor 3, Dr González. Burn after reading.  
_ Well, well. She had done it, and he marvelled at her resourcefulness as he struck a match and touched it to the note. Raquel Murillo was turning out to be quite something, and he was beginning to look forward to working more closely with her in the planning of the gold heist. Professionally speaking, of course. Yes, of course… But now he had things to do, and he shrugged on his jacket and grabbed his hat from the stand, before heading out the door.

-0-

_21 October  
_ Dr Juan González and his wife were enjoying a leisurely breakfast when there was a knock at the door. He frowned; he was not expecting any visitors. When he opened it, it was to find two women and a large, bearded man standing there. One of the women was dressed as a nurse, and because of that he wasn’t unduly alarmed. He focussed his attention on her. “Yes?”  
The man, who had been standing behind the women, now stepped forward and only then did the doctor notice the gun in his hand, and his eyes widened. “We go inside,” the man growled in broken Spanish, and the doctor was too stunned to do anything else than obey. They ushered him through to where his wife was sitting and the shorter, younger woman also produced a gun and pointed it casually at the doctor’s wife.  
Then the woman in the nurse’s uniform spoke. “Dr González, we need you to do us a favour. You have nothing to fear as long as you cooperate,” she said, and smiled pleasantly, but her eyes remained hard.  
The doctor swallowed. “What do you want?” he asked, moving over to take his wife’s hand when she whimpered fearfully.  
“You are going to examine a prisoner, Andrés de Fonollosa, at 11:00 today,” the nurse said, and he began to understand what this was about.  
“Yes,” he confirmed, and she smiled once more. “Good. I will accompany you to the hospital, and my friends will stay here with your wife. As long as you do what I say she will be safe, but if you don’t…” She let the unspoken threat hang in the air and the younger one with the gun smirked and added, “Bang!”  
The doctor’s wife twitched as though she had been shot and clutched her husband’s hand even tighter, and he nodded hastily.  
“I’ll do whatever you want – please don’t hurt my wife.”

_10:30  
_ Sub-Inspector Ángel Rubio presented himself at the gate of the prison and sighed wearily. Because he had been the one to arrest De Fonollosa, his boss instructed him to undertake this tedious assignment, to escort the prisoner to hospital. Besides the fact that he felt this task was beneath him, there was the added irritation that it had prevented him from having lunch with Raquel. Life wasn’t fair. He’d begun to lose heart, begun to think that she would never see him as more than a friend, but surely her desire to have lunch with him proved that he still had a chance? If only Raquel would give him the slightest indication that she fancied him, he would leave his wife in a heart-beat, but instead of having lunch with her and using that opportunity to push his case, he had to fulfil this menial task. He wondered if Alberto had done it on purpose, to keep Ángel away from his wife, but then this assignment had been given to him a week ago, so maybe not. Maybe it was just another example of his rotten luck.

His thoughts were interrupted when the guard brought De Fonollosa into the room where he was waiting, and Ángel straightened. When the prisoner saw him, he smirked - that annoying, self-satisfied smile that let everyone know that he regarded himself as superior, and Ángel bristled. Andrés de Fonollosa was an irritating ass, full of himself and always looking down on other people, but at least the police officer had the satisfaction of having been the one that had caught him. De Fonollosa really had no reason to act as though he was better.  
“Sub-Inspector Rubio,” Andrés drawled, putting subtle emphasis on that first syllable, and Ángel gritted his teeth. The fact that he was not a full Inspector yet was a sore point and he did not like to be reminded of it.  
“Come on, De Fonollosa,” he snapped, unable to hide his annoyance, “I don’t have all day. Let’s go.” He grabbed hold of the prisoner’s arm and steered him out to the waiting car, trying to ignore the snicker his reaction elicited from the other man.

_11:00  
_ When Ángel escorted the prisoner through the crowded waiting room of the hospital, he swept the area with one glance, checking for any dangers. But no-one aroused his suspicion, not the young man with the bandaged hand smoking a cigarette and jiggling his leg, nor the man with the beard and the glasses sitting by his side, pressing a handkerchief to his mouth. The room was filled with an array of injured and sick people, a sad collection of the unfortunates that Madrid was so full of after the civil war, and he paid them little attention. His aim was to get this done as quickly as possible, and if he could leave here at a reasonable hour perhaps he could still persuade Raquel to come to lunch. It was fair to say that his full concentration was not on the matter at hand, otherwise he might have noticed the quick glance that passed between the bearded man and the prisoner, or the way De Fonollosa’s smirk broadened a touch. But he did not notice any of those things, and now he was about to pay for that.

A dusky-skinned nurse with long black hair approached and smiled at him. “Is this the patient for Dr González?” she inquired and Ángel nodded. “Right this way,” she invited, and he prodded the prisoner down the corridor after her, towards the lifts. When they reached the doctor’s rooms the policeman insisted on first checking everything out, and the doctor had no grounds to object. He exchanged a nervous glance with the nurse but Ángel thought nothing of it; in the current climate most people became nervous when dealing with the authorities. Besides the main consultation room, there was a smaller room filled with shelves on which countless bottles with all kinds of medicine were stacked, and Ángel wandered through it until he was certain there was no other exit. The only way to leave the room was through the door they had just entered. Once he was satisfied, he released the restraints and settled into a chair next to that door to wait, whilst the nurse, doctor and patient disappeared into the consultation room.

Ten minutes passed, and then another ten. Ángel drummed his fingers on his leg impatiently but it did not make the time go by any faster. At one stage there was a rumble in the corridor behind him and he looked over his shoulder to see two orderlies push a bed towards the elevator, containing a man covered in bandages. He speculated about what could have happened to the fellow to amuse himself – maybe he’d been caught in a fire, or had cheated on his wife and she threw hot oil over him. Or maybe he’d simply fallen off his bicycle when he hit one of the large potholes that adorned the streets in the poorer neighbourhoods. Whatever it was, Ángel was glad that it was not him. After half an hour the nurse came out and smiled at him. “Almost done,” she said before stepping through the door and disappearing down the corridor, and hope flared in his heart. If that were true, there would be time for lunch with Raquel after all. But alas, it was not true. Another half hour dragged by with no sound or movement, and finally he got up to peek into the consultation room, and to his consternation saw only the doctor, gagged and bound to his chair. He rushed past him, into the small room beyond, but there was no-one there.

De Fonollosa was gone, disappeared into thin air. How the hell was that possible?!

-0-

_Previous day  
_ Sergio had rounded up Silene, Ágatha, Aníbal, Dani and Mirko, some of his co-conspirators on the Romano jewel heist. When he explained that they were going to organise an escape from hospital for Andrés, not everyone was equally enthusiastic.  
“That sexist asshole can rot in jail for a little bit longer, for all I care,” Ágatha grumbled, and Silene smirked. De Fonollosa had managed to rub all the female members of the gang the wrong way at one time or another, but she knew that her friend was not really serious. And indeed, moments later Ágatha grinned and said, “Oh well. What’s the plan, Professor?”  
It was her calling him by the nickname they had given him during the preparations for that jewel heist, that gave him the idea. That, and the fact that Raquel Murillo’s protector that had brought him the information was simply known as Marseille. “I think we should all have codenames; that way we won’t accidentally give away our identities by calling each other by our real names during a job. How about you each choose a city for a name?” And so Tokyo, Nairobi, Rio, Denver and Helsinki were born.

Once that was done, he explained his plan to them. They would take the doctor’s wife hostage, and so force him into assisting them. That would be Tokyo and Helsinki’s job. Nairobi would go with the doctor to the hospital, disguised as a nurse, and ensure that he toed the line. The Professor, Denver and Rio would be at the hospital to execute the plan – Rio as a maintenance worker and the other two as patients. The Professor had obtained the floorplan of the hospital and knew that the office next to Dr González was empty, and that it could be reached through the ceiling from the doctor’s storeroom. All Rio had to do was to install a ladder and make sure the ventilation grills in both rooms could be opened. Then, once he heard Andrés arrive, drop a rope in the storeroom and hoist the other man up. Meanwhile, the Professor and Denver would keep watch in the waiting room, and once they saw Andrés arrive they would spring into action. They would appropriate a bed and bring it to the empty room, and then swathe Andrés in bandages and simply roll him out of the hospital and into the back of a fake ambulance.

_Current day  
_ And that was exactly what they did. As soon as they were outside the city limits and therefore less likely to run into a police patrol, Andrés sat up and untangled himself from the bandages. He embraced Sergio with a huge grin, euphoric at his unexpected freedom. “Thank you, little brother,” he beamed, clapping Sergio on the back. “I was getting a little tired of the slop they give us to eat. But how on earth did you know where I’d be?”  
Sergio shrugged. “I was offered the information, in exchange for my assistance with a new heist.”  
Andrés perked up, interested. “Oh yes? What are we going to steal this time?” he asked eagerly, and Sergio smiled.  
“A hundred bars of gold from the Spanish Royal Mint.”

_tbc_


	4. Secret

_Time for me to take up the reins of my own existence, to choose my own path, to decide how and with whom I was to follow it. I’d stumble along the way, make missteps, encounter broken glass, accidents, and pools of dark mud. I wasn’t facing an easy future, I was quite sure about that. It was time to be the mistress of my own life.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_21 October  
_ _Madrid  
_ When Alberto returned home that evening, he was in a foul mood. Raquel was itching to find out whether Sergio Marquina had managed to pull off his brother’s escape, but she couldn’t ask – she was not supposed to know anything about the man called Andrés de Fonollosa. If the attempt had failed, she wasn’t sure whether Marquina would still be willing to help her, and she couldn’t do this on her own. She had never stolen anything in her life and didn’t have the faintest idea how it could be done. But he had seemed to think it was possible – the thief – and now she was consumed by the idea. She had heard from Marseille that he had delivered her message, and she hoped that her husband would mention something about it. If he didn’t, she would have to wait for the morning papers to get any news. Alberto stomped in, flinging his coat at the rack in the corner and swearing angrily when it missed and flapped onto the floor. Raquel watched on wordlessly; reading his mood had become an integral part of her survival strategy and she could tell instantly that he was angry and frustrated. She would have to tread lightly, or he was likely to take it out on her.  
“Hi,” she greeted, forcing a false brightness into her voice, “dinner is ready.”  
He ignored her and went straight for the drinks tray, and her heart sank. A drunk Alberto was a particularly unpleasant prospect, and she followed him into the lounge reluctantly, keeping a good distance between them. “Is something wrong?” she ventured, and he laughed bitterly and refilled his glass.  
“Yes, something is fucking wrong!” he spat, before taking another big gulp of brandy. “I’m working with fucking idiots, that’s what’s wrong,” he added, before settling on her with a baleful glare. “And it’s all that fool Rubio’s fault!”

Her heartbeat sped up. Did this mean it had worked…? “What happened?” she asked as she watched Alberto refill his glass for the second time.  
“He let a prisoner escape; useless idiot.” He looked up. “And then the Commissioner yelled at me, can you believe it?” he complained. “Inspector Vicuña, I expect you to keep better control of your subordinates,” he continued, mimicking the Commissioner’s voice, and Raquel made a vague sympathetic noise. But she was barely listening. Andrés de Fonollosa had escaped, which meant the heist was on. She had fulfilled her end of the bargain, and now Sergio Marquina had no option but to fulfil his. They were going to steal General Franco’s gold. She had to tell Mónica; with any luck Alberto would drink himself into a stupor and then she could slip out later and go and visit her friend. But first she would have to negotiate her husband’s anger without getting a slap for her trouble. So she took a breath and stepped closer to him. “Poor darling,” she murmured, rubbing his arm, “that’s so unfair,” and eventually coaxed him to the dinner table where she plied him liberally with wine.

_Two hours later  
_ Mónica opened the door at the first knock and ushered Raquel into her tiny apartment. Her secretaries’ salary did not allow for any luxury and it was sparsely but comfortably furnished. She could sense the excitement radiating from her visitor and looked at her anxiously. “You found someone, then? A thief?”  
“Yes. Yes I have, and he has agreed to help us.”  
They settled on the sofa as Raquel relayed the events of the last few days, and Mónica’s eyes widened at her friend’s daring. Once Raquel had finished, a silence fell over the room as they regarded each other. It had suddenly become real; they were actively plotting to execute a criminal act and it was both scary and exciting. It was Mónica that dared to voice it.  
“So we’re really going to do this – try to steal the gold.”  
Raquel held her gaze. “Yes, we are.”  
The young woman nodded, and resolutely ignored the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach.   
“What’s he like, this thief?” she ventured, feeling a horrid fascination, like people stopping to gawk at an accident. “You think we can trust him?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Sergio Marquina had not been what Raquel had expected – in physical appearance, at least, he didn’t look like a criminal mastermind. But she supposed that was part of his success; no-one who saw him in the street would suspect that this man could plan the most exquisite heists. He had seemed rather awkward; as though he didn’t have much experience with interacting with other people. Or perhaps it was her, the fact that she was a woman, that had thrown him off.  
“Not quite what I was expecting,” she eventually answered, and Mónica tilted her head, inviting Raquel to elaborate. “He was, uhm, I don’t know… Sweet?” she offered, and Mónica’s eyes widened.  
“Sweet?!” she echoed disbelievingly.  
“Yes. You know - polite, understanding.” She took a breath. “I think we can trust him.”  
Mónica’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You almost sound like you fancy him.”  
“What?!” Raquel spluttered, affronted. “Don’t be ridiculous – I’ve only met him once.”  
“So?” Mónica challenged, enjoying her friend’s discomfort. “You’ve always had a weakness for intelligent men, and the way you talk about that previous heist of his, you’re clearly impressed by its brilliance. Is he good-looking, then?” she teased, and Raquel gave her a look.  
“I didn’t really notice,” she evaded. This was not the time to admit that she thought he was kind of cute, in a bookish way.  
Mónica grinned and relented, then got back to the matter at hand. “So what now?” she asked, and Raquel turned serious.  
“He wants to know as soon as possible when the gold will be moved; not only the day, but also the time of departure if possible. How many guards will there be? What vehicle will it be transported in, and where will it be taken?”  
Mónica listened intently, taking careful note of the instructions. “Alright. I’ll do my best,” she said gamely, and Raquel reached out and squeezed her arm.  
“Be careful, hmm? I have a feeling Arturo will turn nasty if he gets wind of what you’re up to.”  
Mónica nodded, surprised to find herself agreeing with Raquel. A few days ago she would not have believed it – would have sworn that Arturo could never hurt her. But his anger when she had informed him of the pregnancy had been potent and volatile, and it made her realise for the first time that the man she had been sleeping with had a dark underbelly.  
“Have you thought any more about what you’re going to do?” Raquel continued. “About the baby?” Mónica shook her head mutely, her desperation simmering just under the surface, and Raquel pulled her into a hug. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. We have time, and hopefully soon we’ll have money. No need to make any decisions right now,” she soothed, holding her friend and silently cursing that ass Arturo Roman once more.

-0-

_23 October  
_ _Madrid  
_ Mónica surreptitiously watched her boss as he bent over his desk, busily writing. Her eyes traced over his fleshy face; how could she ever have thought him handsome? She had clearly been blinded by his position of power, by her desire to marry someone with a good job and enough money for them to live comfortably. For that was what had been imprinted on her from an early age, as with most little Spanish girls – that the only way to secure her own future would be to marry the right man. What a crock that had turned out to be. Just look at Raquel; Alberto Vicuña seemed to have all the desired traits – a good, stable job, some power, intelligence. And yet all it had brought Raquel was misery and pain. No. Like Raquel, she had become convinced that it was time to take charge of her own destiny. She did not need a man to look after her; from now on she would take care of herself. And she would start right now, by trying to get the information they needed to steal the gold. She got up, hitching her skirt a little higher (for Arturo regularly proclaimed his weakness for her legs), and sashayed into his office.

The Director looked up as she entered, his gaze lingering on her long legs before settling warily on her face. Mónica had been tetchy the last couple of days, but surely she could see his point of view – that an abortion was the best option for all involved. The whole thing was damned inconvenient, and it had upset the nice arrangement he had enjoyed for two years now; the dutiful wife at home, looking after the children he had no real interest in, and the hot young plaything at the office to scratch his sexual itch and stoke his ego. No, a baby would be most inconvenient. But something was different, today; the frown that had adorned Mónica’s face the last few days had been replaced by a smile, and he felt himself stir. He missed screwing her, but perhaps he was in with a chance.  
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, settling on the edge of his desk, making her skirt ride up even higher, “and I’ve decided you’re right. I’m going to get rid of it.”  
His relief knew no bounds, and he reached out to run a hand up her exposed thigh.  
“Good. Very good. I’ll pay for everything, of course,” he said magnanimously, and she nodded.  
“Thanks,” she murmured, and he slid his hand under her skirt and groped eagerly at her flesh.  
“I’ve missed you,” he told her, and she smiled at him.  
“Poor baby. Not getting any at home, then?” He shook his head, feeling sorry for himself, and her smile widened. “Well, maybe we can do something about that. What are you busy with?”  
“These blasted arrangements for the transport of the gold bars,” he grumbled, and her heart-rate sped up.  
“Mm. Why don’t you let me do that – you have that telephone call with Italy to deal with in a few minutes, then afterwards we can meet in the storeroom?” she suggested, and his cock twitched at the prospect.  
“Fuck, God, yes. You’re the best,” he enthused, practically throwing the papers at her, “everything you need to know is in there.”  
She took it, her hand shaking slightly but he didn’t even notice, and left his office with a feeling of triumph. She would have to let him fuck her one more time, but it was a small price to pay for the priceless information she had just obtained. He didn’t last long during sex, anyway. And during the act she would have the satisfaction of knowing that he was screwing away Franco’s gold in the process.

-0-

_25 October  
_ _Toledo  
_ The two brothers sat around the breakfast table in the old ramshackle house, with steaming cups of coffee in front of them. Real coffee was scarce in the post-civil war period, but Andrés had many contacts in the smuggling world, and the brew in their cups was the real deal, not the shitty chicory imitation most people were accustomed to. Andrés was clad in an elegant silk gown, whilst Sergio was already dressed in his suit. The older brother shook his head, savouring a sip of coffee as he did so. “You need to learn to relax, little brother. Life is good – we’re both free, we have excellent coffee, and the prospect of a new and exciting heist on the horizon. Live a little, for God’s sake.”  
Sergio smiled tightly. “You mean like sleeping with a different woman every night?” His brother had been making up for lost time since his escape from prison, and Sergio was used to seeing some woman or other coming and going from the house each night. He had prudently installed himself in the bedroom furthest from Andrés’, he had no wish to listen to the energetic intercourse his brother was having all night.  
Andrés smirked. “Or even just one, Sergio. When was the last time you got laid?”  
“That’s none of your business,” Sergio snapped, annoyed. Why must his brother always equate joyful living with women and sex? There were other things in life, too, to take pleasure from. Planning the perfect heist, for instance. Folding an intricate origami figure – making something extraordinary out of an ordinary piece of paper. Playing chess – pitting your wits against that of another man. All these things brought him joy; he did not need a woman for that. “Can we focus on the job at hand, please?” he added, and Andrés waved a hand in surrender.  
“Very well. Tell me about the gold.”

“The Director of the Royal Mint is preparing to transport a hundred bars to an unknown location. We have a mole in the Mint, who will provide us with the details once they have been determined.”  
Andrés frowned. “’We’?”  
“What?”  
“You said ‘we have a mole’. Who’s ‘we’?”  
“Oh.” For some strange reason Sergio found himself reluctant to tell his brother about Raquel Murillo, but he would have to sooner or later, so he shrugged it off. “I was approached by a woman, who told me she could give me the information about your visit to the hospital, in exchange for my help in stealing the gold.”  
“A woman?” Andrés repeated incredulously. He had decided views on the fairer sex; whilst he loved them, he was not convinced about their usefulness outside of the bedroom. To his surprise a flash of annoyance crossed Sergio’s face.  
“She’s intelligent and resourceful, Andrés. She managed to identify and find me through reading the reports her husband brought home – he’s a police Inspector-“  
“Whoa, hold on a minute. This woman is married to a policeman? Fuck, Sergio. It’s a trap. It must be.”  
The younger man stiffened. “I don’t agree. You haven’t met her, Andrés. You know nothing about her.”  
Andrés sighed. Sergio was certainly brilliant, but he could be rather naïve when it came to women. “No, but I don’t have to. I understand women a lot better than you, little brother. Let me guess: she was good-looking, and she had some sob story about her husband cheating on her, and that was why she was doing this. Right?”

Sergio shifted uncomfortably. The guess was rather close to the truth. But if this was a trap, why would she give him the information to help his brother escape? “… He abuses her,” he said quietly, and Andrés rolled his eyes.  
“Oh, sure.”  
“I saw the bruises, Andrés,” Sergio retorted, angry now, and the older man cocked his head, alerted by something in his brother’s voice.  
“Oh no. No, Sergio. You think you’re going to save her, don’t you? Don’t fall for it. It’s a classic ploy that women use to entrap men.”  
But Sergio shook his head stubbornly. “You’re wrong. Think about it; if the police knew what she does – who I am, where I live, why didn’t they just arrest me? Why allow me to free you and continue with the plans to steal the gold? It doesn’t make sense.”  
Andrés opened his mouth, then closed it again. That was a fair point, he had to admit reluctantly. “Alright,” he conceded, “let’s run with it for now. But I want to be there when you meet with her again, to see for myself.”  
Sergio had no grounds to object, but for some reason the idea did not appeal to him. What if his brother tried to make Raquel Murillo one of his conquests and ruined everything?

-0-

_26 October  
_ _Toledo  
_ Raquel was on her way to her second meeting with the thief, and she was rather nervous. Would he renege on their deal? Was this simply a courtesy meeting, during which he would tell her that he was no longer interested in helping her steal the gold? There was, of course, another, even more unpleasant alternative – that he would force her to give him the information he wanted about the transport of the gold, and then ditch her, or something worse. No, surely he wouldn’t kill her…? He didn’t seem like a violent man, but she had only met him once – that was not nearly enough time to form an accurate evaluation of the man. Which was why she was currently seated in Marseille’s old rattletrap of a car, with the big man behind the wheel and Pamuk panting in the backseat; she was not stupid enough to go to this meeting without protection. But she really hoped it would not be needed; that he would honour their deal.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Marseille grumbled, and she turned her head towards him. She shared his doubts, but she was not about to admit that; besides, she could see no other way to achieve her objectives – both of them. “Marquina is not an idiot,” her companion continued, “the more time you spend with him, the more likely he is to figure out you’re playing a dual game.”  
The previous night she had informed her husband that she was going to visit their daughter in Lisbon for a few weeks, and he had agreed readily; perhaps the idea that he would have more freedom for his extramarital activities had swayed him. Now she was on her way to inform the thief that she would only give him the information if she and Marseille could remain with him until they had pulled off the heist, to ensure he didn’t double-cross her, but she knew that wasn’t what her friend was referring to. No, he was talking about the fact that there was more to this heist than what she had divulged to Sergio Marquina to date: whilst there was some truth in the fact that she was doing it to get the money to leave her abusive husband, this was not the main reason. Her biggest motivation was far more altruistic, and far more dangerous: to stop Spain from helping Germany in the war, and to channel the bulk of the gold to the French Resistance.

For there was something that only Marseille knew about her: that on her previous visit to Lisbon, when she had taken her mother and daughter there for their safety, she had also offered her services to British Intelligence. She had offered to provide them with any information she could garner from her husband’s contacts on Spain’s position on the war, and they had eagerly agreed. They had put her in contact with a man with the codename Marseille, who was also operating in Madrid for the same goal, and together they had been spying on the Franco government. For Raquel it was a moral obligation; not only to prevent her country from being dragged into another devastating armed conflict, but also to oppose the Fascist Hitler from conquering the whole of Europe, from enforcing his abominable policies on that much larger canvas. She could not sit idly by and watch that madman exterminate a whole race – she had to act. And when she had learnt about the gold, she knew it was time for a more active form of resistance than merely passing on snippets of information. It was time to actively oppose General Franco’s plans to help the Germans.

But the thief could never know that, because if he knew that he was part of an act of treason rather than a mere criminal endeavour, he would probably want nothing to do with this. No, he must never find out. So as they turned through the gates of an old estate on the outskirts of Toledo, she took a breath and steeled herself. “We have no option, Marseille. It’s a risk we have to take. But perhaps we should both sleep with one eye open until this is done, hmm?”

_tbc_


	5. Preconditions

_Over the previous days I’d assembled in my mind an image of an impulsive, brusque man, someone sour, with enough nerve to try to intimidate anyone he came across in order to get what he wanted. But I was wrong, just as we are almost always wrong when we construct preconceptions on the fragile basis of a single act or a handful of words.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_26 October  
_ _Toledo  
_ As they pulled up to the house, two men stepped outside, and she recognised Andrés de Fonollosa instantly, even though she had never seen him in the flesh. She frowned; she had not bargained on having him present when she discussed the way forward with Marquina. Both men were dressed in suits, but where Marquina’s was old-fashioned and somewhat ill-fitting, De Fonollosa’s was smart and tailored. And because of that, she instantly spotted the bulge at his left side. She had seen enough police detectives to recognise what it presented - he had a gun. It disturbed her; she knew that he had shot and wounded a man during that caper he was arrested for. The Romano jewel heist had been pulled off bloodlessly, and perhaps that had lulled her into a false sense of security. Maybe Sergio Marquina and his brother were not quite as averse to violence as she had made herself believe. “The older one is armed,” she murmured to Marseille without visibly moving her lips, before she reached for the door handle. “Right. Let’s do this,” she said with more bravado than she felt. Actually, she was petrified, but she would be damned if she’d let them see it.

Sergio came forward to greet her; if he was surprised by the presence of her protector and his dog he hid it well. “Mrs Murillo,” he said, “welcome to Toledo.”  
“Raquel, please,” she insisted, squinting in the sun as she smiled up at him, and he was caught unawares by a jolt of affirmation. She was as beautiful as he remembered, and he smiled back awkwardly, unbalanced by the physical reaction the sight of her elicited. He fumbled for something to say, aware that Andrés was watching the exchange with interest.  
“Well, uh, I believe some thanks are in order,” he finally managed and half-turned to his brother. “As you can see, I managed to engineer my brother’s escape from the hospital.”  
“Yes, I read about it in the paper. Congratulations.” Then, unable to live with the uncertainty any longer, she blurted, “Does that mean we still have a deal? About the gold?”  
He canted his head, surprised by the question. “Of course. I gave you my word,” he said simply, and when she released a long breath he realised for the first time how tense she had been.  
He opened his mouth to reassure her, but Andrés chose that moment to step forward.  
“Raquel,” he said, giving her his most suave smile, “you must forgive my brother’s poor manners for not introducing us.” He held out his hand. “Andrés de Fonollosa; it’s an honour to meet the woman who helped me escape.”  
As he bent over Raquel’s hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, something moved in Sergio’s chest – something he had never felt before and couldn’t put a name to. But when Raquel’s gaze lifted to his and she said coolly, “No matter, I’m sure he was about to,” it released again as he realised that she wasn’t taken in by Andrés’ charm.

They went inside and settled around the large dining table, and Raquel folded her hands on the tabletop. She addressed herself to the younger brother, convinced that Sergio Marquina rather than his brother was the brains in this operation. He was, after all, the one who had never been arrested. “My friend managed to obtain all the details of the gold transfer,” she divulged without preamble, and saw De Fonollosa give his brother a disbelieving look. He obviously did not trust her, and she wondered what Sergio had told him about her.  
Sergio, however, seemed impressed and pleased by the news. “That’s great; that means I can begin planning in earnest,” he responded. “What is the timeline?”  
She hesitated, and De Fonollosa narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Before I tell you anything,” she said, ignoring the older man, “I have some preconditions.”  
Andrés scoffed and turned to his brother. “Well will you listen to that – the little lady wants us to steal for her, but she wants to impose preconditions.” He smirked at her. “We’ll be the ones risking our lives, sweetheart; don’t presume to prescribe to us.”  
“Andrés.” Sergio’s voice was steely and his brother looked at him quizzically. Raquel watched the interplay between them with interest, and she got the idea that Andrés was not used to being challenged by his younger sibling.  
“Let’s give Raquel a chance to say what she wants before we make any judgements,” Sergio suggested, then nodded at her to continue.  
She gave him a small smile of gratitude. “Thank you. My first condition is that Marseille and I remain here with you during the planning-“  
“What?!”  
“Andrés.” Sergio gave his brother a warning look, and Raquel resumed. “It’s nothing personal, but I don’t know you, and I have my whole future riding on this.” She shrugged. “I would feel more at ease if I can be present during the whole process.”  
Andrés rolled his eyes, clearly expecting his brother to refuse, but to everyone’s surprise Sergio simply nodded. “That seems fair,” he said evenly, and Andrés’ mouth fell open in astonishment.  
He recovered quickly, but Raquel had noted his reaction all the same. “Raquel,” he intervened, giving her a charming smile, “would you excuse us for a moment? I need to have a private word with my brother.”  
With that he ushered Sergio into the kitchen and out of earshot, and Raquel exchanged a glance with Marseille. The distrust was clearly strong on both sides; it was going to be an interesting time ahead.

As soon as they were out of range Andrés addressed his brother.  
“What are you doing?” he demanded, and Sergio pushed his glasses up his nose.  
“It’s a reasonable request, Andrés,” he maintained. “Think about it – would you just give such information to two thieves, without keeping an eye on them? I know I wouldn’t.”  
“So you’re actually going to do it – let her in on the heist?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, I assumed you were only using her to get the transport information – that you’re not stupid enough to perpetrate a criminal act with the full knowledge of the wife of a police officer.”  
Sergio straightened, offended. “You thought I’d double-cross her? Without her you would still be in jail,” he pointed out angrily. “Besides, I gave her my word.”  
Andrés sighed, exasperated. “Listen to me, Sergio. I know you have this thing about honour; that you see yourself more as a resistance fighter than a criminal. But you know what? We are _thieves_. And she,” he pointed a finger in the direction of the dining room, “is married to a police officer. How can you not see how risky this is?”

Sergio’s eyes dropped to the floor. There was a lot of sense in what Andrés had said, and yet… He had this sense that he could trust her. Perhaps it was the melancholy, the resigned desperation that simmered just below the surface in her eyes. It must be horrible, to live with an abusive man; always on the alert, walking on eggshells so as not to upset him. “I trust her,” he said simply, and Andrés took a step back and regarded him closely.  
Then he began to laugh. “My God. You fancy her, don’t you?”  
“Pardon?!”  
“I don’t blame you; she’s quite a looker. A little old for my taste, but she’s still got a good body. Nice, shapely ass-“  
“For fuck’s sake,” Sergio interjected testily, “she’s a person; don’t talk about her like she is a racehorse.”  
Andrés lifted an eyebrow, intrigued by his brother’s uncharacteristic shirtyness. “You have a lot to learn about women. They want us to notice these things.”  
“Really – if you’re so knowledgeable, why have five women divorced you? She is bloody intelligent, why don’t you notice that rather than her looks?“ Sergio challenged. “And for your information,” he continued, “I don’t fancy her. This is business, and you know my rule – no personal relationships on a job.”  
“Mmm,” Andrés responded non-committally. He wasn’t convinced, but he would go with it for now. He resolved to keep a very close eye on the woman and her bodyguard. He was convinced that he knew women, and that he would be able to spot it if she was playing a double game. “Alright then, I’ll follow your lead for now.”

When the two men rejoined them, Raquel looked at Sergio anxiously. Whilst she was relatively certain that she could trust the younger man, she was less sure about De Fonollosa. She didn’t yet understand the dynamics between the two brothers, and didn’t know how much sway he had over his younger brother.  
“Sorry about that,” Sergio said as soon as they entered. “I agree to your first condition,” he immediately reiterated, setting her mind at ease, and she let out a breath she wasn’t even aware of holding. “Anything else?” he asked, and she shifted in her seat.  
“Yes. One more thing. My friend at the Mint, who got us the information, will need to be extracted from Madrid as soon as we start with the heist. It’s going to be pretty obvious that she’s the one who leaked the particulars, and she will be in danger.”  
Sergio nodded. “I agree.” Then he looked at her. “What about you? I assume you will need extraction too?”  
She hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but Andrés was watching her closely and picked up on it, and his suspicion increased another notch. “…I will make my own arrangements,” she stated, and Sergio did not push her.  
“Alright. And we’ll divide the spoils evenly between everyone who takes part?” he checked, and she nodded her agreement. He smiled, and there was a glimmer of excitement in his eye as he did so. “Well then, Raquel, I think we have a heist to plan.”

-0-

Sergio showed them to two adjacent rooms at one end of the corridor, informing them that he was at the other end. She wondered whether it was motivated by a desire to afford her some privacy, or whether it was an attempt to keep her out of the way. As she closed the door behind her and began to unpack the few clothes she had brought, she pondered the man she had chosen to help her steal General Franco’s gold. He did not fit her expectation of what a criminal mastermind would be like. She had expected overbearing confidence, even arrogance, and a certain crudeness of manner; someone who did not give much thought to the views of others. But Sergio Marquina had proven to be none of those things. Instead he was diffident; shy and soft-spoken, and solicitous to a fault. Even so he had stood up to his brother, so he was no push-over and she got the sense that he could be stubbornly single-minded when it came to planning his heists. And here, in the privacy of her room, she could admit to herself that she was intrigued by the man. It was going to be fascinating to work closely with him, to get to know him, and she unexpectedly found herself looking forward to the next few weeks. She had expected it to be an odious and unpleasant experience, but it seemed that she had been wrong.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Marseille slipping through her door. Without a word he began a careful inspection of the room, presumably checking for listening or recording devices before he said anything. Once satisfied, he checked the sturdiness of the door-lock before turning to her. “Pamuk will sleep in front of your door in the evenings, but you should lock it as well, just to be safe.”  
She perched on the edge of the mattress and regarded him. “You don’t trust them, then?”  
He shrugged. “When you’re in our line of business, you can’t trust anyone.” He looked at her to make sure she took note of his warning. “Not even people you may think you know well.”  
It was a timely reminder that she should not forget why she was here; as an agent working against the Germans, and therefore presently also working against her own government. She had no idea how these men, these thieves, would feel about that, no matter how well they treated her for now. She was dragging them into an act of treason, an offence punishable by death, and no-one was likely to take that well, no matter how nice they might be.  
“Alright,” she confirmed, smiling at the big man, “I’ll make sure to lock my door.”  
He nodded, satisfied, then held out a small silver object to her. “I also want you to carry this at all times.”  
It was a small snub-nosed revolver, and she stared at it in horror. She knew how to shoot, but she didn’t like guns; she had seen too many photographs in her husband’s files depicting the damage they could do. She began to shake her head, but Marseille pressed it into her hand, insistent. “You said yourself the older one is armed; we need to level the playing field, alright?”  
Raquel took it reluctantly and dropped it into her purse. It was a mere precaution, she told herself; hopefully she would never have to use it.

-0-

An hour later they got down to business. Sergio escorted her to another room, which had been set up as a classroom. There were a few small desks and chairs, arranged in two rows, facing a bigger desk and a blackboard. She looked around inquisitively. “Is this where you planned the Romano heist?”  
He hesitated, uneasy about sharing any unnecessary information with her. He was secretive by nature, and he preferred that people did not know more than the needed information about him. But he remembered how impressed she had been by that heist, so perhaps there wasn’t any ulterior motive behind the question, just genuine curiosity. “Yes.” He gazed round the room too, remembering the months spent here plotting and planning. It had been a good time, and he was looking forward to experiencing that process once more.  
He moved towards the blackboard and took up a piece of chalk. “What’s our timeframe?”  
Raquel settled behind the first desk. “A month. The gold will be transferred at the end of November. The 25th, to be precise.”  
She watched on as he wrote the date on the board. He stared at it for a few seconds before leaning back against his desk and folding his arms. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and her eyes were drawn to the play of muscles in his forearms. “And you will be able to stay here for the whole month?” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “What I mean is, won’t your husband become curious at such a long absence?”  
Raquel smiled bitterly. “I’m sure he’s relieved to be rid of me so that he can screw around as he pleases. Besides, he thinks I’m in Lisbon visiting my daughter and my mother,” she divulged, and he blinked.  
“You have a daughter?”  
“Yes.” This time she smiled with genuine affection. “Paula. She’s eight now. It’s safer for them in Lisbon,” she added, and he tilted his head quizzically.  
“Why didn’t you go with them?”  
She kept her expression carefully neutral. “My, uh, my husband wouldn’t allow it. He needs me here in Madrid to keep his house.”  
Sergio processed that. “So you plan to take them with you when you disappear – your mother and daughter?”  
“Of course,” she said immediately, and she thought his gaze softened as he watched her.  
“I see.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s not my place to interfere, but you should be very careful not to leave a trail that your husband can follow. A man like that will go to great lengths to find his daughter and take her from you, out of spite.”

His concern surprised her, and she was filled with a mixture of emotions. When was the last time anyone other than Mónica had worried about her? She was unaccustomed to it; had become used to fight her lonely battles without any help or support. And yet, here was this stranger, this thief, fretting about her. And when he said hesitatingly, “Listen. If you ever need any help…” and shrugged shyly, her eyes filled with unexpected tears.  
“Thank you,” she murmured, blinking rapidly, and he solicitously turned away to give her a moment. Her eyes stayed on his back as he wrote a few more words on the board. He kept surprising her, kept usurping her assumptions on the kind of man he should be, and it was throwing her off. She had been determined to stay aloof, to only interact with him as far as absolutely necessary during the coming month, but she was beginning to wonder whether she would be able to keep to that resolution. And if she didn’t – if she allowed them to become friends, for instance, how would he react once he realised she had an ulterior motive for the heist? She didn’t have any answers; all she could do was play her role and hope for the best. Suddenly she was glad for the gun Marseille had given her, but even as that thought came to mind she desperately hoped that she would never have to use it on Sergio.

But only time would tell.

_tbc_


	6. Proposition

_He spoke with complicity, familiarly, as though he knew me: as though his soul and mine had been waiting for each other since the beginning of time.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_26 October  
_ _Toledo  
_ “A month,” Sergio repeated, thoughtful. “That’s not a lot of time.” He smiled slightly. “I planned the Romano heist for three years,” he said by way of explanation, and she smiled back at him.  
“It showed. The attention to detail was exquisite; you left nothing to chance.”  
There it was again, her admiration for his abilities, expressed without reservation. Was she merely trying to butter him up, or was it genuine? He felt himself hoping for the latter, then shook out of it. This was not the time for wishful thinking. “Do you know the route they plan to take?” he asked instead, and her smile broadened.  
“I do indeed.” As she reached into her bag her fingers brushed against the cold steel of the pistol, and a shudder went through her. Then they found the documents wedged in at the side and she pulled them out triumphantly. “I have an actual map.” She couldn’t hide the note of pride in her voice and he was enchanted; what a marvel she was turning out to be. She handed it over and he spread it open on his desk, and she got up and stood next to him as he pored over it. He could feel the heat of her arm close to his, and he was momentarily distracted. She didn’t notice. Her finger unerringly found the Royal Mint. A red line started from it and wound its way to the coast, to the harbour in Valencia. “The gold will go by train to the harbour in Valencia, and from there by ship to an unknown destination.” She knew all too well that it was destined for Italy, as it would be much easier to transport it through that country to Germany, but she was not about to tell him that. “It will be loaded onto two trucks in the early morning hours, then transported to the train station.” She glanced up at him, all business. “They want to be out of Madrid before sunrise.”  
That was an interesting bit of information. “Hmm. So they think the biggest security risk is whilst the gold is still in Madrid?”  
“Looks like it, yes,” she confirmed. “It will be escorted by a platoon of the First Army Battalion at all times during the journey.”

That gave him pause. It meant that there would be at least 20 soldiers guarding the gold – too many to take on. The plan would need some subterfuge to work. “And it’ll go by train to Valencia?” he checked, and she nodded.  
“Yes. A special train that will transport only the gold and the soldiers guarding it.”  
His eyes traced the railway as it rose and fell along the contours on the map, looking for anything that might be of use, until it reached the bridge where the tracks crossed the Cabriel River near Minglanilla, and an idea began to form. He looked up at her, eyes sparkling with intent, and said, “I need to take a trip to Minglanilla.”

-0-

They gathered around the large table for dinner, and it was a rather surreal affair. Marseille settled next to her on one side, whilst the two brothers sat facing them on the other side. She could practically see the battle line drawn down the middle of the table; despite the amicable air between herself and Sergio, the presence of the other two men was a stark reminder that there were secrets between them, that she could not let her guard down. Besides, Andrés made no effort to hide his mistrust, and he watched her every move with a sardonic little smile that grated on her nerves. She knew his type; he was like so many of her husband’s friends and colleagues. These men had a veneer of civility, but as soon as you scratched at the surface, it gave way to something dark and dangerous, an inherent belief that women were objects rather than human beings, to be used and abused as pleased. He might fool a lot of women with his charm, but she knew better than most what lay behind it, and she would not be taken in.

Sergio laid out the details of the gold’s transport as they ate, and Andrés’ gaze kept flicking between her and his brother as he listened. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help gazing at Sergio’s hands, at their elegant movement as he talked, aware all the time of De Fonollosa’s scrutiny. Had he noticed her interest in his brother, she wondered uncomfortably? Luckily the food offered some distraction - she was surprised to see many delicacies on the table that she had struggled to obtain in Madrid. It seemed there were definite advantages to having connections with the criminal world; she was certain the olives and cheese came from the black market, not to mention the fresh fruit.  
“I’m going to take a trip to Minglanilla – take a look at the bridge,” Sergio concluded. “We could perhaps use it to our advantage.”  
Andrés’ eyes swivelled to his brother. “Alone? That’s dangerous. You know a man travelling alone in these times is bound to raise suspicion.”  
Sergio shrugged. “I have no choice. You can’t leave this house – your face is plastered over every police station in the country.”

That was true, and then, to Raquel’s shock, the older man suggested, “Why don’t you take Raquel?” His gaze settled on her as he added with a trace of mockery, “A husband and wife travelling together will attract far less attention.”  
“Excuse me?!” Sergio and Raquel exclaimed in unison, and Andrés smirked, enjoying their discomfort.  
“Taking the missus to the coast, Officer,” he intoned, as though he was talking to an invisible policeman. “She gets the vapours, you see, and needs the sea air to clear her chest.” He spread his hands, grinning at Sergio as though he had just solved all his problems, and Raquel pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes. _Condescending bloody son of a bitch.  
_ But when she looked to Sergio, expecting him to share her indignation, she found a thoughtful expression on his face. And when he turned to her, there was something in his eyes, something that looked suspiciously like a spark of interest. “Actually, that’s a good idea,” he said. “Would you mind?”  
For a second she was too dumbfounded to form any words, until her mind began to compute the possibilities. She would get an opportunity to learn more about Sergio, without the interfering presence of his brother, and she would get to keep an eye on the thief, make sure he didn’t use the opportunity to double-cross her. “Uhm, alright,” she mumbled and felt Marseille stiffen next to her. He could not show his concern openly, but she knew he would give her a piece of his mind later on. But her decision was made; she was going on a road-trip with Sergio.

Later that evening, when she left her room to go to the bathroom, she ran into De Fonollosa in the gloomy corridor. He was dressed in a silk robe more suitable to a woman and she felt his gaze run up and down her body. He had the ability to make her feel objectified without even opening his mouth; it really was a rare talent.  
“Nice robe,” she remarked, hiding her unease behind snarkiness, and he smirked.  
“Unlike my brother, I have a sense of fashion.”  
She smiled and tried to edge round him, but he stood his ground, preventing her from passing without brushing up against him. “Do you mind?” she snapped. “I was on my way to the bathroom.”  
He watched her from under heavy lids, then said, “My brother would like to fuck you.”  
She staggered back a step. “I beg your pardon?!”  
He continued as though she hadn’t said anything. “Of course, the poor bugger is clueless when it comes to women, so you’ll probably die of old age before he works up the courage to do anything about it. Still, he could do with getting laid – he is so tightly wound that it’s unhealthy.” He peered at her. “Maybe you can help him out on this trip of yours?”  
Fuck, did he just proposition her on behalf of his brother?! She knew then that he had indeed noticed the way she had stared at Sergio’s hands during dinner, had recognised her interest in his brother. She took refuge in anger, and drew herself to her full height. “I am not a whore, or a slut. I am married, as you well know. And your brother is perfectly capable of getting his own women – I’m sure he doesn’t need you to play the pimp for him.”  
He shrugged, thick-skinned enough not to take offence, and stepped aside. “As you wish,” he replied gallantly, waving her past. “But keep it in mind – hubby doesn’t need to know, if you see what I mean.”

She tried to keep to a normal walking pace as she moved past him and down the corridor, determined not to let him see how uncomfortable he made her. But once she closed the bathroom door behind her, she sagged against it and closed her eyes. What the fuck had that been about? He clearly didn’t trust her, and yet he had tried to push her into his brother’s bed. Was this some game – a test to see whether she would take the bait? Did he suspect that she planned to seduce Sergio during this trip and decided to test her reaction? And then she wondered what had disturbed her more – his crude proposition or the jolt of arousal that had shot through her at the thought of sleeping with Sergio. For the truth was that the flicker of attraction she had seen in the thief’s eyes during dinner had stayed with her, stuck like a burr in her mind, making her wonder what it would be like to be intimate with him. And despite what she had told De Fonollosa, there actually wasn’t any legal impediment to her doing so; she had visited a lawyer before leaving Madrid, and left a letter filing for divorce with him, to be served on Alberto in a month’s time. In her mind she was already divorced. She swallowed. No. There were other, more practical reasons for keeping the relationship professional, the most important being to prevent herself from being blinded to any treachery from the thieves’ side. She would have to make sure she kept her guard up, and not be drawn into any indiscretions on this trip.

-0-

_27 October  
_ The next morning a dark-haired, dark-complexioned beauty appeared on the doorstep. For a brief moment Raquel wondered whether she was De Fonollosa’s mistress, but the woman dismissed his presence with ill-concealed contempt and smiled brightly at Sergio. Sergio introduced her as Nairobi, clearly intent that Raquel would not know the woman’s true identity, and she could not help but smile – it was obviously inspired by her refusal to give them Marseille’s real name. “Nairobi will prepare false papers for you. She is the best forger in Spain,” Sergio told her, and the woman beamed at the praise. There was an ease, a familiarity in their interaction and Raquel felt something move in her chest, which she resolutely refused to name. Nairobi studied Raquel with frank interest, and when Sergio informed her that the papers needed to be made out in the name of Raquel Martín and that they would also need a marriage certificate, her eyes widened with curiosity.  
“A marriage certificate, hey? Professor, you old dog, do you have something to tell me?” There wasn’t any malice in her teasing and Raquel relaxed, but to her surprise the thief blushed.  
“No, erm, it’s for a job. You know my rules,” he said hastily, his eyes avoiding Raquel, and she tried not to read too much into his reaction.  
“Yes, yes,” Nairobi sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes good-naturedly at Raquel, “no personal relationships.”  
Raquel frowned; this was the first she’d heard about his rules, and what’s more, why did the woman call him ‘Professor’? Was he actually some sort of academic? But there was no time to find out – the rest of the day was taken up with the preparation of her papers and she never got the chance to question Nairobi.

-0-

_28 October  
_ They departed the next morning. It would be a good four-hour drive and Sergio wanted to make an early start. Raquel was ready at the appointed time, with a small overnight bag and her purse. It contained the pistol Marseille had given her, as he had insisted that she couldn’t go off with the man unarmed. As they drove down the drive and Marseille and Pamuk was swallowed up in the dust kicked up by the car, she felt a flash of panic. What the hell was she doing? Had she taken leave of her senses to agree to this – to go on a two-day trip alone with a criminal? But then she glanced at his face, and he turned his head and smiled at her, open and unguarded, and her fears settled down. Sergio Marquina was not a violent man. She had learnt the hard way to identify that particular streak in men, and she could not see it in him. She would be fine. She relaxed into the seat and her gaze wandered to his hands once more as they rested on the steering wheel, large and long-fingered. A pianist’s hands, she found herself thinking, and wondered whether he liked music. Actually, there seemed to be an ever-growing list of things about him that she was curious about. “Why did Nairobi call you ‘Professor’?” she asked out of the blue, more for something to say than because it was the uppermost question in her mind.

He glanced at her and hesitated, and she wanted to laugh; both of them were reluctant to reveal anything private about themselves, apparently, and she began to think the next few days would be filled with a lot of awkward silences. But he evidently decided there was no harm in telling her, because he said, “It’s a nickname they gave me during the preparation for the Romano heist – they said I’d prepared it as though I was going to write a thesis on it.”  
She smiled involuntarily – that was a rather apt description. “Ah. So you’re not an academic?”  
He laughed, somewhat wistfully she thought. “No. My, uhm, my father died when I was very young and I couldn’t afford to attend university.”  
Her heart went out to him at the unexpected confession. “I’m sorry.”  
He nodded and swallowed, and she realised that perhaps he had not yet come to terms with that loss. It was common in people who had lost a parent early.

As she wondered what had made him share this bit of personal information, he asked, “What about you? Did you go to university?”  
She could hardly refuse to answer after his willingness to talk about his past, so she said, “I started, but I had to drop out.”  
He did not miss the note of resentment in her voice. “Why?”  
She looked away, out of the window at the countryside flowing by. “I fell in love and got married.”  
His expression turned grim, knowing what had happened without her having to say it. “And he insisted that you drop out and keep his house.”  
Her gaze fell to her hands. “It’s the done thing, it’s what society expects,” she said bitterly. “A woman can’t be married and obtain a degree – as though we are incapable of doing two things at the same time.”  
He was silent, thinking over what she had told him, then he asked carefully, “I know it’s none of my business, but why did you marry him? Didn’t you know he was violent?”  
Her eyes lifted to his face then. She had never discussed this with another living soul, but somehow she felt safe enough with him to be honest. “No,” she said simply. After a beat she added, “It doesn’t work like that, you know. No woman would willingly marry a violent man. But it happens the other way around – you meet him and he’s charming and intelligent, and he makes you feel like the centre of the universe. And once he has you ensnared, he gradually begins to show his true colours, breaking down your self-confidence little by little so that when, years later, he slaps you for the first time, you no longer know how to save yourself.”  
He turned his head and his eyes slid over her face, and the sadness he found there pierced his heart. “But you do,” he said gently, “despite everything, you are taking steps to save yourself. And because of that you have already beaten him.”  
Raquel stared at him, this thief who kept surprising her, and felt tears spring to her eyes. She nodded, overcome, and on impulse reached out to grasp his hand. “Thank you,” she murmured. He froze under her touch and quickly withdrew his hand, but she didn’t care. He had shown her a piece of his soul, and for that she was grateful. They had established an unlikely connection despite both their determination to keep matters between them on a professional level. All the same, she decided to move the conversation to safer ground. “What are we looking for on the visit to Minglanilla?”

For the next hour they discussed possible options for the execution of the heist, and she unexpectedly enjoyed herself. He was easy to talk to, and he allowed her to voice her opinions and suggestions without dismissing anything she said out of hand. It was a refreshing change from what she was used to with Alberto and his friends. She could sense him gradually relax in her presence, and for a while she forgot that they were on a criminal endeavour and simply relished his company. He had an understated but sharp sense of humour and when she laughed out loud at one of his jokes, she couldn’t help but wonder when she had last done so. She could no longer remember. That made her sad, for before Alberto she had been a happy and outgoing person. But now, after what he had done to her, she was guarded, serious and self-possessed, and she wondered whether she would ever get back to the person she had once been. But before she could spiral into the depths of depression at the thought, Sergio inhaled sharply next to her. She looked at him questioningly and he lifted his chin, directing her attention up the road.

“Roadblock.”

_tbc_


	7. Reconnaissance

_Was I afraid? Yes, intense fear was clinging to the pit of my stomach. But in check. Tamed. Under my control.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_28 October  
_ Raquel’s eyes widened in alarm and her heart leapt into her throat. _Oh shit._ The police had put a barrier across the road and several men lounged to the side of it, next to a police van. Her breath sped up and Sergio glanced at her. “Relax. You are Raquel Martín, wife of Salva,” he muttered under his breath. “Your papers are good – they’ll stand up to scrutiny.” She nodded wordlessly, and to her surprise he reached out and squeezed her hand in reassurance. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and repeated to herself: _I am Raquel Martín, married to the man next to me for five years now. We are on our way to Valencia to visit his parents._ That was not too hard – she could do this. She could sell the lie, the illusion. And by the time they rolled to a stop at the barrier she was ready.

And so, apparently, was Sergio. He wound down the window and smiled diffidently at the policeman who stepped up to the car. “Good morning, Officer. What’s going on?”  
The man didn’t respond, but leant down to look intently at the faces of the two occupants, before his gaze swept to the backseat. “Papers,” he ordered, holding out his hand.  
“Of course, of course,” Sergio responded as he turned to the woman next to him. “Darling, can you hand over the papers?” He smiled up at the policeman once more. “The missus has them in her purse,” he explained, and Raquel felt shock reverberate through her. She hid it by bending down to fetch her purse from the foothold, but the panic threatened to rise up and choke off her air supply, for her purse not only held the false papers, but also the small pistol. Oh fuck, what if they searched them? _No. Put it out of your mind. Control your fear, like you used to do when Alberto got violent. You’ve had years of practice at projecting a calm you don’t really feel._ And when she straightened up, there was no trace of it on her face. “Here you are, Salva my love,” she responded, holding out the papers, and concentrated on the thrill that went through her when Sergio’s fingers brushed hers as he took them. He handed them over to the officer and they waited as he perused them, their tension bubbling under the surface. After an eternity he looked up and his gaze swept the interior of the car once more. “Where are you headed?”  
“Valencia – to visit my parents,” Sergio explained, and that apparently satisfied the policeman. “What’s going on?” Sergio repeated as he handed back their papers, and the officer shrugged.  
“Escaped convict on the loose,” he divulged. “So you be careful – don’t pick up any strangers along the way.”  
Sergio shuddered, alarmed. “We won’t, Officer. Thank you for the warning,” and then the barrier was lifted and they were waved through.

Sergio’s eyes stayed on the rear-view mirror until the policemen were no longer in sight, and then his shoulders relaxed. “We’re clear,” he announced, and she released a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding. _Fuck_. She wondered whether she should ditch the pistol at the first opportunity – that had been too close for comfort. Sergio’s head swivelled towards her, and she realised he was grinning from ear to ear. “Well done, Mrs Martín,” he quipped, emboldened by the release of tension, and she laughed.  
“Thank you, darling,” she played along, emphasising the endearment, and something flashed across his face that she preferred not to name, for doing so might land her in even more danger than that roadblock presented. Instead she said, “It’s a good thing your brother didn’t come with you,” and he sobered.  
“Yes. We’ll have to keep that in mind when we plan the heist.” He sounded glum and she looked at him.  
“You think it’s going to be a problem?”  
“It might. He’s normally the one on the frontline – the one that engages the target and pulls the wool over their eyes while others do the stealing.” He shrugged. “I have an idea, but it will necessitate something like that to be done. I’ll have to consider things carefully.”  
She sat back, thoughtful. So De Fonollosa was to be an integral part of the heist, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She didn’t like him much, but for the sake of the plan she might have to make an effort to establish a rapport with him.

The rest of the journey was uneventful and they reached their destination by midday. Minglanilla was a tiny settlement, barely worth the name, nestled at the foot of a mountain. They could see the train tracks snake towards the mountains in the distance, and knew that just across it lay the river and the bridge. They booked into a twin room in the small hotel, before setting out once more. Apart from the town the landscape was rugged and empty. Just before the road started climbing, a dirt track turned off to the right, and a signpost proclaimed it to lead to the barracks of the Third Army Battalion. Raquel frowned, perturbed, but when she looked to Sergio he was smiling. “You’re not worried about the proximity of the Army Battalion to the bridge?” she asked curiously, and he shook his head.  
“No. Quite the contrary – I think we can use it to our advantage.” He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t press; he seemed loath to voice a plan that was only half-fledged and she could understand that. When they crested the mountain, the river sparkled in the sun below them, and they could see the bridge that spanned it. Sergio pulled to the side of the road and they sat for a bit, making sure no-one else was around, before he stepped from the car with binoculars in hand.

Raquel joined him as he moved forward a few paces and lifted the binoculars to his face. She had no idea what he was looking for, but she let him look without interruption. There was a bite in the air – winter had arrived – and she shoved her hands into her coat pockets. She could see for miles, but apart from the town at her back, there was no sign of human habitation. There was movement at her side as Sergio lowered the binoculars, then held them out to her. She shook her head, and he let it dangle from its strap at his side. His face was blank but she thought she detected the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, and her own excitement began to build. Even though he hadn’t said a word yet, she somehow knew that he had figured it out.  
“What do you think?” she murmured, and he looked at her.  
“It’s one of those steel monstrosities,” he said with some satisfaction, and she furrowed her brow.  
“I take it that’s a good thing?”  
“Oh. Yes. They’re much easier to blow up than a stone bridge,” he responded, and her eyes widened.  
“We’re going to blow up the bridge?” she queried with some apprehension, and his gaze settled on her face.  
“You don’t approve?”  
The question brought her up short. Her knee-jerk reaction was to say that she didn’t, but that was the answer one would expect from a law-abiding citizen, was it not? And she could no longer claim to be that; she was actively plotting to steal the state’s gold, after all.  
As though he could sense her distress, he said gently, “The train won’t be on it when we do so; no-one will be hurt,” and some of her unease dissipated. The thief was perceptive; he had identified her main source of concern even before she had.  
She let out a breath and smiled self-consciously, then risked a small confession. “This is all a bit scary – I’ve never so much as stolen a candy before.”  
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “That’s understandable. I was scared shitless my first time too.” Then he leant towards her and divulged, “And you know what? I still get scared, which is why I plan my heists so carefully. Preparation is half the battle – take out as many variables as you can, and it becomes much simpler.”  
She smiled up at him. “That makes sense,” she acknowledged, and he looked into her eyes before he turned back to the car.  
“I think we can risk a closer look – there’s not a soul in sight.”

As they drove down the winding road she studied his profile, her thoughts occupied by this man she was slowly beginning to know. He was kind, and that was somehow important to her. Whilst she was resolute in the path she had chosen, she had perhaps never considered that people might get hurt, or even killed, in the process. It was one thing to spy on your country and to steal its resources in an attempt to avert a war, but it was quite another to have blood on one’s hands. That was something she would rather avoid, and Sergio now knew that. He could have been derisive, could have called her naïve; but instead he had been reassuring, and she liked him even more for that. He was so different from Alberto, and from most Spanish men with their machismo and their swagger, their inherent belief that women were not their equal. And she was greatly looking forward to watch his mind at work as he formulated his plan for the gold heist.

Sergio pulled off the road near the bridge and reached into the back seat to collect a camera this time. They got out and walked over, both scanning their surroundings, making sure there were no eyewitnesses about. When they reached the foot of one of the steel girders, Sergio lifted the camera. “Why don’t you stand by it for the picture,” he said, gesturing towards the steel structure, and she looked at him in surprise.  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
He nodded towards the foot of the bridge again. “It’s only natural that a man would want to take a picture of his beautiful wife, rather than just an ugly steel bridge, don’t you think?”  
She stared at him, momentarily stuck on the fact that he had called her beautiful, before she got her feet to move. “Right. Of course.”  
For the next few minutes he positioned her at various angles to the bridge, until he was satisfied that he had got all the details of its construction that they would need. “There,” he said eventually, “even if the film fell into the wrong hands, no-one would guess what the pictures are really for.”

-0-

By the time they got back to Minglanilla dusk was falling, and they agreed to have dinner in the hotel rather than traipse around the deserted streets looking for another place. Besides, in these post-civil war times, good eating places were difficult to come by even in Madrid, so the chances of finding a better option was slim to none. At least it was relatively clean, and they settled at one of only four tables in the small dining room. It was early and they were the only patrons at the moment, but judging from the over-eager attention the owner bestowed on them, he wasn’t used to a lot of clientele. Once he bustled away with their orders (soup of the day and a glass of red wine each), she sat back and allowed herself to relax for the first time that day. This was not the place to discuss a criminal venture, and she cast around for another topic of conversation, when Sergio pre-empted her.  
“So your mother and daughter are in Lisbon?”  
A stab of longing pierced her heart and it must have shown on her face, for his eyes softened with empathy. She tried not to dwell on it, but her family’s absence was a constant dull ache in her chest. God, how she missed Paula. But she was safer in Lisbon, and soon, hopefully, she would be reunited with her once more. “Yes. It’s safer there,” she said out loud; it was the mantra she used to keep the melancholy at bay.  
“How old is she?”  
A soft smile blossomed on her face. “She’s eight now.” After a beat she added wistfully, “She’s such a good kid; smart as a whip, too.” And then the dam broke, and she found herself telling him about her family, even her concerns about her mother’s memory lapses. He was a good listener and easy to talk to, and the conversation flowed easily after that. They lingered over the uninspiring food, enjoying each other’s company, until a group of boisterous soldiers burst into the room and ruined the atmosphere.

They retired to their room, and as they walked along Sergio asked, “What do you know about the Third Army Battalion?”  
She took her time, letting her thoughts go back over all those tedious evenings in the company of Alberto’s military friends. “It’s commanded by Colonel Tamayo, who came with Franco through Africa for the attack that started the civil war. I’ve never met him, but by all accounts he’s a hard taskmaster. I do know the captain of one of the companies – Captain Suarez. He’s from the north, where my husband was stationed for a while.” And then she added, as though she was able to read his thoughts, “His face isn’t known to any of the soldiers from Madrid – he’s never been there.”  
Sergio smiled; a secretive, satisfied smile, and she knew the plan was beginning to take shape in that impressive brain of his. But before she could ask for details they reached their room, and she had other things to worry about, like decorum.

But Sergio turned out to be a perfect gentleman. Posing as husband and wife meant that they had to share the same room, but he solicitously went for a walk, allowing her to finish her ablutions and put on her night gown, and settle in bed before he returned. He went to the small bathroom at the end of the corridor and when he returned he was clad in striped flannel pyjamas, and slipped into the twin bed. They were each cocooned in their own sheets and blankets, but even so she was acutely aware of his presence next to her; his soft breathing, his scent, his body heat. She lay there, staring into the darkness, wondering what he was thinking about, for she could hear from his breathing that he was still awake, too. Perhaps it was his idiotic brother’s comments that had put the thoughts in her head, but she was absurdly tempted to roll over and kiss him. Instead she spoke into the black, hoping the illusion of anonymity it provided would tempt him into sharing a confidence with her.  
“Sergio? What made you become a thief?”

His breath hitched and she knew that she had caught him off-guard, but then he inhaled deeply. “…My father was one,” he finally divulged, and her heart-rate sped up. She turned on her side, towards him, and waited for him to continue. There was a rustle of bedcovers and when he spoke again his voice was closer as he mirrored her position. “He was forced into it by circumstances.” She detected a note of bitterness behind the words. “He had a sick child, and no money to pay for treatment. No-one would help him – not the banks, not the government. So he began stealing, out of desperation.” Her heart constricted at the suppressed anguish in his voice and she almost reached out to touch him, but she didn’t move in fear of breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen over him. “One day he tried to rob a bank,” he continued, his voice wobbly with emotion, “and he was shot dead by the police.” Beneath the sorrow there was something else, and it took her a moment to place it – guilt. And in a flash she understood.  
“It was you, wasn’t it? The sick child.”  
He sniffed. “Yes. He was killed trying to save my life.”  
She gave him a few moments to gather himself. “How old were you?”  
“…Nine. I was in the hospital when they came to tell me.”  
Her heart ached as she pictured the small, sick boy in the large hospital bed, being told of his father’s death, and a lot of things suddenly began to make sense.  
“A month later Andrés came for me,” he continued unexpectedly. “He’s quite a few years older than me. His mother married my father after her first husband had died. Andrés never really knew his own father – he loved my father like his own. So when he was killed, Andrés went and swindled a bunch of rich women out of their jewellery, and he used it to pay for private treatment for me.”

She had wondered about the strong bond between the two brothers, particularly as they were such different people, but this sad tale explained why they were so devoted to each other. “The system is rotten and unfair,” Sergio added bitterly, “and the government only looks after the rich.”  
It was her turn to hold her breath. Could he possibly share her distrust in the current government? But no, surely he was referring to the previous regime, under which all of this had happened. She cautiously tested the waters.  
“Maybe the Franco government will set things right,” she ventured, but he scoffed derisively.  
“No they won’t. They are no better than the previous lot. The faces have changed, but nothing else has. Now we are only being oppressed by people in uniforms, rather than suits. Franco and his soldiers are out to enrich themselves; they couldn’t give a damn about the poor and the marginalised.”  
She let out the breath she had been holding and turned onto her back, lost in thought. It had been a most illuminating night, and perhaps this thief could become an ally in more than one sense. Perhaps she could risk it – telling him what the heist was really about. He wasn’t a fan of the current regime; surely he would understand? But then another worry took hold: once she told him, he would lose any chance of deniability and would become a knowing accomplice in treason, and that thought scared her. Deniability could mean the difference between a death sentence and mere prison time if they should get caught, and she realised that she didn’t want to deprive this decent man of that opportunity. Oh God, what was she to do? There were no answers in the dark, and she lay awake for a long time before sleep finally took her.

_tbc_


	8. Recruits

_I decided to confront the future from behind a mask of security and courage, preventing people from seeing my fear, my miseries, and the dagger that was still piercing my soul.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_29 October  
_ When she woke the next morning, the bed next to her was empty, but there was a note on the pillow. _Darling_ , it began, and her heart skipped a beat before she got hold of herself. Sergio was just making sure it did not arouse suspicion if it should fall into the wrong hands. _Gone for a walk. See you at breakfast. Love, Salva_. She lay back and wondered what was happening to her. Every time something like this occurred, she found herself lost in a fantasy for a split-second, before reality asserted itself. She had never been a fanciful woman; why was she finding it so hard to resist now? There was something about Sergio that was drawing her in; a connection that she was at a loss to explain. She had thought, after the mistake she had made with Alberto, that she would probably never allow herself to be interested in another man again, because how could she possibly trust her own judgement anymore? And yet here she was, wishing that the endearment at the top of the note might be true, and she shook her head at her own stupidity. She would have to keep a tight rein on her emotions going forward. She could not afford to make another mistake; apart from the personal toll it would take, she could not lose sight of the bigger impact a loss of focus could have on her ability to influence Spain’s role in current world events. The success of the planned heist was paramount, as it would ruin Spain’s relationship with Germany if Franco could not deliver the gift of the gold to the German Führer. She tucked the note into her purse and dressed for the day.

Sergio was sitting at the table in the corner of the dining room, a cup of coffee before him, when she entered. He stood and, aware of the proprietor hovering in the background, leant over and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Morning, darling,” he murmured as he pulled out the chair for her, and with the best will in the world she could not repress a delighted smile and a slight blush.  
“Did you enjoy your walk?” she asked as she settled down and began to butter a toast. The proprietor scuttled over with the coffee pot and she was assaulted by the aroma of burnt chicory as he poured some into her cup. She knew it would taste horrid and kept her face carefully blank as she took a sip.  
“I did,” Sergio confirmed, handing over a small pot of honey, “there’s nothing like exercise to get the brain working.”  
She glanced at him, not missing the meaning behind the words, and could see the excitement simmering just below the surface. And that’s when she knew for certain: he had a plan that he believed could succeed. But she waited until they were alone in the car and on their way back to Toledo before she said anything.  
“You have a plan, don’t you?”

His head swivelled to her, surprised that she had read him so well. “Yes, the basics of one,” he admitted. “But there’s still a lot of detail that needs to be fleshed out. There’s a busy month ahead.”  
His hands flexed on the wheel and she didn’t push him for more, instinctively understanding that he did not want to discuss it until it was ready.  
“I will have to recruit some additional people,” he added, and she looked at him sharply. He met her eyes briefly before returning his attention to the road. “It’s unavoidable,” he reiterated, “we will need certain skills to pull this off.”  
She had not expected that and she sat in silence, processing this development. It was a risky business they were embarking on, and she was uncomfortable with sharing the information with too many people. The chances of something leaking out and alerting the authorities increased exponentially with each additional person that had knowledge of the heist. Besides that, it meant the number of people that she had to lie to increased, and she did not like the idea of that. She was not duplicitous by nature, and she was already having sleepless nights about deceiving Sergio; how could she possibly- No. She savagely cut off this train of thought. She was doing it for altruistic reasons, to stop the Germans and their relentless march across the continent, and to prevent Spain from entering into yet another war. There had been enough suffering, enough death. She would not stand by whilst Franco allied them with a prejudiced fanatic, with a man who was trying to wipe an entire race from the face of the earth. If she had to lie to the Pope to achieve these aims, she would do it, because it was justified. She became aware that Sergio was looking at her curiously, wondering about her silence, so she forced a smile and shrugged. “I understand. Besides, there’s plenty of gold to go around, right?”  
“Right,” he echoed, but she knew that he was not totally convinced. She hoped that he would ascribe her reluctance to a desire to have more of the gold for herself, and not become suspicious of her motivations. That she could not have.

-0-

_Toledo, evening  
_ Andrés entered the makeshift dark-room as Sergio hung up the last of the pictures he had developed. The red light cast an eerie glow over the younger man’s glasses, and Andrés walked along the row of images and studied each in silence. Sergio watched him, and when he stopped in front of the last one and stared at it for an inordinately long time, shifted his feet uncomfortably. In it, there was almost nothing to see of the bridge structure; Raquel’s face filled the image, the sun catching the golden highlights in her hair. The photo captured her essence, her effortless beauty, and he swallowed, wondering what the other man would make of it.  
Andrés tilted his head; there was a softness in her gaze that surprised him and made him reconsider her intentions towards his brother. Could it be that the attraction was mutual, and that she fancied his awkward and socially inept younger sibling as much as he apparently fancied her? And if that was the case, would it necessarily be a bad thing? Perhaps such an attachment would make it harder for her to sell them out to the cops, if that was her plan. Eventually he broke the silence.  
“So did you sleep with her?”  
“What?! Of course not. You know my rules,” Sergio protested, perhaps a bit too heatedly.  
“Mmhmm,” Andrés drawled, then gestured to the photo. “And yet…” He let the implication hang, and Sergio felt the heat push up his face. He could only hope that the dim light would make it unnoticeable.  
“It’s for cover; if the film fell into the wrong hands, it would look weird if all the photos focussed more on the bridge than on my supposed wife.”

“Cover. I see,” Andrés smirked, before he relented. He loved his little brother, and he wanted him to be happy. He was acutely aware that the day was not far off that he would no longer be around, and he would hate for Sergio to be alone in the world. If this policeman’s wife might prove to be the one that captured Sergio’s heart, he did not want to stand in the way. He would still keep an eye on her, but he would not interfere unless he was certain she was not to be trusted. He owed Sergio that much, so he slung an arm around his shoulders. “Look. It’s alright if you fancy her – she’s not my type but I can see the appeal. You two can rut like bunnies for all I care, as long as you don’t lose sight of the ultimate goal here, hmm?” He stepped in front of Sergio and grabbed his head with both hands to look him in the eye. “You should allow yourself to live a little; have some fun. There’s nothing wrong with that. Just make sure you don’t let it cloud your judgement.”  
Sergio frowned. “What does that mean?”  
Andrés looked at him long and hard. “I get the feeling she’s hiding something. It could be nothing – something ridiculous that women always worry about, like she’s going grey and actually dyeing her hair.” Sergio rolled his eyes at this, but Andrés was not done. “Or it could be something serious, like a plan to sell us out to the cops or to double-cross us.” He tapped Sergio lightly on the cheek. “Just don’t be too blinded by lust, alright?” With that he turned and walked out, leaving a pensive Sergio behind, his gaze locked on the image of Raquel’s face, smiling almost shyly at the camera. Maybe Andrés had a point – not about the rutting-like-bunnies part, but about being blinded by his growing fascination with her; maybe he should try harder to keep a bit of distance between them.

-0-

_03 November  
_ _Toledo  
_ _Five days later  
_ Sergio approached Raquel after breakfast, a serious expression on his face. “Can I have a word?”  
“Of course,” she said, strangely pleased. They had, as if by mutual consent, kept their interactions purely professional since returning from their trip, and to her surprise she had found that she missed his company. There had been an ease between them during that outing that she had never experienced with a man before, as though their souls had recognised a kindred spirit in the other, and she had begun to wonder if it would be so bad if she allowed him in a little more.  
Some of what she was thinking must have shown on her face because he said, almost regretfully, “It’s to do with the heist,” and she smiled brightly, trying to hide her disappointment. Sergio pushed his glasses up his nose. “Do you perhaps know any disillusioned soldiers; about ten men who would be willing to take part in this heist?”  
She pursed her lips, intrigued, as she thought about it. “Uhm. Does it have to be Spanish soldiers?”  
Sergio eyed her curiously. “No… No, I don’t think so. As long as they have the bearing and manner of a soldier,” he decided.  
Her eyes glinted. “In that case, the answer is right in front of us.” She pointed her chin in Marseille’s direction and Sergio’s head swivelled towards the big man. “Marseille used to be in the French Foreign Legion, and he still has contact with quite a few of his old comrades.”  
A tiny smile plucked at the corners of Sergio’s mouth. “Interesting. Will you talk to him?”  
She nodded, happy that he trusted her to do this, and approached Marseille. Things were beginning to move, and she began to feel the first tendrils of anticipation in the pit of her stomach.

That afternoon, the first of Sergio’s recruits began to arrive.

-0-

_05 November  
_ _Morning  
_ They were gathered in the large upstairs room that had been turned into a makeshift classroom, and the walls were covered with diagrams, photographs and sketches. Sergio had instructed everyone to choose a city name for themselves; he was adamant that they should exchange as little as possible personal information. He himself would be known as the Professor, the nick-name the group had given him during the Romano heist. Raquel wondered what the others thought of this, seeing as many of them already knew each other, but they all took it in their stride, apparently used to Sergio’s idiosyncrasies. She had chosen the city of Lisbon, to remind her of her mother and daughter, whom she missed dearly, whilst Andrés had picked the city of Berlin, which made her wonder whether he actually supported what Germany was doing in Europe. As they settled down behind the school desks that had been arranged in two rows, she observed the new arrivals with interest. Apart from herself, Sergio, De Fonollosa and Marseille, she only recognised one other person; the woman she knew as Nairobi. The dark-haired forger was laughing with a young woman, a prickly girl that had arrived the previous afternoon and introduced herself as Tokyo. Raquel had not yet been able to determine what her particular skill was, other than abrasiveness. Apart from the women, there were five men. Two, both huge, bearded hulks of men, spoke broken Spanish with a thick accent and were called Helsinki and Oslo, and were clearly there for their muscle. Then there was Moscow, a kind, older man, who used to be a blaster in a mine, and Raquel suspected his job would be to blow the bridge. The group was rounded out by two younger men, Rio and Denver, the latter of which was Moscow’s son. He wasn’t very bright, but he seemed a genuine sort, and Raquel instinctively liked him and his father. Rio was the youngest of the group and was apparently a communications genius, and he was constantly tinkering with short-wave radios and other communication equipment. They were a motley bunch, but Sergio evidently had confidence in them, seeing as they had all been involved in the successful Romano heist.

Sergio stepped to the front of the class and she watched on as he took up a piece of chalk and wrote ‘welcome’ on the blackboard. There was something subtly different about him, and she puzzled over it until she could put her finger on it. Assuredness. He exuded an assuredness that was absent during run-of-the-mill social interaction with him. Here, he was in his element, confident in his ability, and she found it rather sexy. She hurriedly smothered that thought and focussed her attention on what he was saying.  
“Welcome. I have gathered you here because I have a new proposition for you.” He eyed them one by one, a hint of a smile hovering on his face. “How does the prospect of a hundred gold bars strike you?”  
Raquel switched her attention to the others, and saw mixtures of awe, astonishment, greed and even a few flashes of disbelief in the faces around her. She could sympathize – it was a fantastical fortune in these war-torn times. The Professor continued: “I won’t lie to you; this will be a high-risk endeavour, because the gold bars belong to the government and they will come after us with everything they have.” A rustle of unease swept through the room, and Raquel caught Marseille’s eye, who was sitting mutely at the back. “If any of you are uncomfortable with this, speak up now.” The implication was clear – speak up and lose out on a share of the loot, and unsurprisingly no-one said a word. If this came off, none of them would ever have to steal or work again for the rest of their lives. Sergio nodded, satisfied, and clapped his hands together. “Right then. Let’s get started. There is a lot to organise and not much time to do it in.”

He turned to the blackboard and wrote ’25 Nov’ on it. “On 25 November,” he explained, stabbing a finger on the date, “the government will transport a hundred gold bards from the Royal Mint to the harbour in Valencia.” He turned to a map pinned to the wall. “The gold will be loaded onto a special train in the early morning, accompanied by a platoon of the First Army Battalion.” There were a few worried looks among the group, but the Professor ignored them. Or perhaps they didn’t even register; he was completely immersed in his presentation. “The train will follow these tracks,“ he traced the route along the map, “until it gets to the Cabriel River here, near Minglanilla.” His finger stopped next to the bridge and he paused for a dramatic second. He turned to his audience and his eyes found Raquel’s, almost involuntarily, as he swept a hand towards the photographs of the bridge next to the map. “The tracks cross the river over this bridge, which is where we’ll make our move.”

He paused again to let this statement sink in, and Tokyo’s gaze swivelled to Raquel, calculatingly. “Interesting model,” she observed, having seen the older woman in the photographs, but the Professor missed her meaning.  
“Yes. Luckily for us it is a steel bridge; they are much easier to disable than a stone structure.”  
As he spoke, Raquel was aware that Tokyo’s gaze stayed fixed on her. She had not missed the actual meaning behind the words and concentrated on keeping her expression carefully neutral.  
Denver laughed, a strange, one-note braying sound. “So we’re gonna blast the train off the bridge and pick the gold from the wreckage,” he smirked, and Sergio looked at him sharply, appalled.  
“Er, no, Denver. Nothing so crude. We’re simply going to make it impossible for the train to cross.”  
Denver’s smirk turned into a frown of concern. “So you want us to take on a whole platoon of trained soldiers to get the gold off the train?!”  
The Professor smiled. “No. Not that either.” He paused, looking rather pleased with himself, then added, “They are going to give it to us of their own free will.”

-0-

That evening, as Raquel was in the kitchen, busy setting out food on platters, she found herself cornered by Tokyo and Nairobi. She eyed them warily but did not stop with what she was doing. Tokyo took an olive from a plate before she spoke. “So, Lisbon, what’s your story?”  
Raquel straightened and watched her pop the olive into her mouth. It was the end of the season and there was preciously little fresh produce around. Soon they would have to revert to only preserved goods for their dinners. “The Professor was clear about not exchanging any personal information,” she responded, her voice even. She had no wish to antagonise the other women, but she also had no intention of telling them anything about herself.  
Tokyo lifted an eyebrow. “If you always followed the rules, you wouldn’t be here plotting to steal the government’s gold.” She gave her a challenging look, but Raquel stood her ground. If she had learnt one thing from her shitty marriage, it was to never show weakness or fear. She stared back, not saying anything, and finally Nairobi intervened.  
“We were wondering what your role is in this endeavour,” she explained, “as the Professor didn’t say anything about it this morning.”

Raquel’s gaze swivelled to the forger. She liked Nairobi; she was a straight-forward sort who didn’t waste time playing games. “Intelligence,” she said, and the other two women exchanged a puzzled look. “Information,” Raquel clarified patiently, “my role is to provide information.”  
“Huh. What kind of information?” Tokyo wondered.  
“The decision to move the gold, the route, the protection. That kind of information,” Raquel responded, and Nairobi looked impressed. But Tokyo was not quite ready to let go of it.  
“And how did you get hold of this information?”  
“You don’t need to know that.”  
“Oh really?” Tokyo took a step towards her, her posture aggressive. “Then how do we know you’re not selling us a smelly batch of bullshit?”  
Raquel did not back down an inch. She would not be intimidated by this confrontational girl. “The Professor has confidence in the information, and that’s all you need to know.”  
Once again it was Nairobi that intervened. “That’s good enough for me,” she declared cheerfully. “Now let’s eat, I’m fucking starving.”

The two younger women departed, each with a platter in their hands, but Raquel stayed behind for a moment, breathing deeply. The number of people she had to be wary of seemed to grow by the day, as she mentally added Tokyo to the list. She had to stay alert, had to always remember that she was lying to these people and therefore endangering them, and she had to keep her guard up. And suddenly she was glad about the gun Marseille had given her. She might need it before all was said and done.

_tbc_


	9. Preparations

_But the fact was, a new shadow seemed to have settled over my life. A shadow that was not even constant, not even total; perhaps this was why it wasn’t easy for me to become fully aware of its proximity.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_06 to 12 November  
_ _Toledo  
_ Over the next week the role of each member of the gang became more clear. Nairobi, the master forger, was set up in a large downstairs room filled with long benches, rolls of material and garishly coloured thread, where she began to painstakingly recreate the insignia of the Third Army Battalion, stationed near Minglanilla. Sergio asked Raquel to sit with Nairobi and to sketch out what she could remember about the uniform of Captain Suarez in particular; what medals and other insignia did he have? And even though their leader was playing his cards close to his chest, she began to get an inkling of what he was planning. Someone – and here her money was on Berlin – was going to impersonate the Captain, whom none of the soldiers of the First Army Battalion were likely to have laid eyes on previously. Raquel enjoyed Nairobi’s company, and the long hours spent huddled together over the designs seemed to fly by.

Tokyo, to Raquel’s relief, departed for Minglanilla after a few days, to fulfil her own specific part of the plan. Before she did, though, Raquel also sat with her for a couple of hours, narrating everything she knew about Colonel Tamayo and Captain Suarez to the younger woman. These hours passed much less pleasantly than the ones spent with Nairobi, as Tokyo took every opportunity to be difficult and to make snide comments. Raquel did not rise to the bait, though, exercising every last ounce of patience she possessed, mindful that Tokyo’s role was crucial to the success of the plan, and was something she herself would have baulked at. For Tokyo was going to Minglanilla with the express aim of seducing one of the soldiers at the nearby base. During their brief visit there, the Professor had ascertained from the owner of the hotel that the soldiers frequented his establishment, looking for drink and company, and that they often took women back to the base. Once inside, Tokyo would use her feminine wiles to get access to the base’s communication manual, which stipulated the frequencies the Third Army Battalion used when communicating with other bases. It was a dangerous and, for Raquel, unpleasant task, but Tokyo seemed unfazed. She, apparently, had few qualms about using her body for such a purpose.

Rio, meanwhile, was experimenting with various types of short-wave radios, seemingly trying to build something that would block a specific frequency. When he was not tinkering with a piece of equipment, he followed Tokyo around with puppy-dog eyes, and he seemed a lot more put out by Tokyo’s assignment than she herself was. From this Raquel surmised that the two of them were sleeping together, something Sergio appeared blissfully unaware of. It made her wonder whether Sergio would actually notice if any woman tried to flirt with him, and then she wondered what made her ponder that. It’s not as if she was in any position to do it. And even if she could, it would be a Very Bad Idea. No. Best not to think about that at all.

Halfway through the week Sergio approached her, with Denver sloping along on his heels. “Lisbon,” he began, all business, “I have tasked Denver with extracting your friend from Madrid, and out of the country.”  
Raquel looked at him with surprise, and some dismay. She had not expected him to choose this young man for the task. Whilst he was friendly enough, she thought him rather reckless and, well, dumb. And as if to confirm her views, he smirked and sniffed. “Is she a looker, then?” he asked, and she turned from him to the Professor, hoping he would realise the error of his ways and pick someone else.  
But unfortunately he did not register her discomfort. “You, me and Denver will have to pay a visit to Madrid to see her and to plan her extraction,” he announced crisply, before turning on his heel and marching off, his mind already on some other facet of his plan.  
Raquel sighed and turned to Denver. “Come along, then,” she said, secretly resolving to warn Mónica to be careful, and to give Denver a stern talking-to before letting him anywhere near her friend.

The next morning she woke to a banging noise from outside, and when she went to the window to investigate, she saw Helsinki, Oslo and Moscow constructing a smaller replica of the bridge. So the three of them would be in charge of blowing it, and was about to practice on the smaller model, it seemed. She noticed a pile of dynamite sticks stacked close by and turned away with a shudder. She hoped that they knew what they were doing and wouldn’t blow them all to kingdom come in the process. She returned to her bed and sat down on the edge, deep in thought. It seemed that everyone had their assigned role, apart from her. Even Marseille and his soldier friends were practicing for their part in the caper.

She felt a little bit lost, like a third wheel on someone else’s date, even though she knew that she was contributing through the information she was providing. She wondered what the Professor planned to do with her during the actual heist; whether she would be left here on her own while the rest went off to execute the plan. And where would Sergio himself be? Would he run everything from here, or did he plan to set up a command centre in Minglanilla to be closer to the action? For the first time, since she had set the wheels in motion on that visit to the thief’s apartment a few weeks ago, she began to wonder whether she was making a huge mistake. She was overcome by a wave of melancholy, of self-pity, which was something she had never allowed herself to feel even in the darkest moments of her abusive marriage. It was soon replaced by a stab of irritation as she got angry at herself for the weakness. What was so different now, that she would feel sorry for herself? And as soon as she asked the question, the answer flashed before her eyes: a pair of warm brown eyes, a shy smile, and a mop of dark lush hair that she longed to run her fingers through. Oh, fuck, she was in trouble.

-0-

Perhaps it was in an attempt to prove to herself that she was not beginning to fall for the criminal mastermind she had chosen to help her steal General Franco’s gold, that she did what she did next. Later in the day, when there was a lull in the various training sessions going on around the property, she sought out Marseille and invited him to join her for a walk. She set off at a vigorous pace, causing the big man to glance at her quizzically, but she said nothing as they followed a footpath around the back of the house and into the copse of trees beyond, Pamuk trailing along on their heels. Once they were out of sight of the house, she slowed down and took a heavy breath. “Do you trust the soldiers you recruited for the Professor’s plan?” she asked, and Marseille turned his head to stare at her.  
“They won’t sell us out to Franco’s people, if that’s what you’re referring to,” he said, and she gave him an irritated look. He had to know that was not what she meant.  
“You know it isn’t,” she snapped. Marseille was the only one who knew what this heist was really about – an attempt to scupper the Spanish dictator’s plans to help Germany conquer Europe. He didn’t say anything in response and she took a moment, wondering why she was so on edge, before she continued in a calmer tone. If he wanted her to spell it out, she would oblige him. “Do you trust them enough to help us double-cross the thieves, and take the gold to help the French Resistance instead?”

There. She’d finally said it out loud – she planned to steal from the thieves. Not everything, of course; she would let them keep enough of it to start new lives elsewhere, but she was determined that the majority of the gold should go towards the effort to stop Adolf Hitler and his abominable policies from spreading any further. It was risky as hell and until a few days ago she had had no idea how she was going to pull it off. But then the Professor had unwittingly played into her hands by asking Marseille to recruit the company of ex-soldiers he required for his plan, and it had provided her with a solution. Once again her co-conspirator said nothing and she stopped walking and turned to face him, planting her hands on her hips. “That has always been the plan. You know that,” she stated, and there was a defensive note in her voice that she hoped he didn’t pick up on.  
Marseille looked away over the landscape, absently fondling Pamuk’s ears. “Yes, but that was before-“ He stopped himself, and she took a step closer, almost angry now.  
“Before what?” she demanded.  
He shrugged. “Forget it.”  
But she was not about to let him off the hook. “Oh no. No. Let us be clear for once.” She stabbed a finger at his chest. “You were the one who insisted we shouldn’t trust these thieves, who lets Pamuk sleep in front of my door every night!” He could not hold her gaze and she made an attempt to lower her voice. “So what’s going on, Marseille?”  
He sighed, then looked her in the eye once more. “I like the guy,” he mumbled. She stared at him in astonishment, so he elaborated. “The Professor. I like him. I think we can trust him.”

Holy shit. She was dumbstruck. Marseille was one of the most pragmatic men she had ever met, and not prone to sentimentality. What the fuck was happening?  
“Pardon me?” she blurted, and he shifted his feet uncomfortably.  
“You like him too,” he deflected, “I can tell-“  
“Maybe,” she hastily interrupted, “but I’m not about to let that blind me as to whether we can trust him!” She turned away and ran a hand through her hair in frustration. _As if this wasn’t hard enough already._ “For fuck’s sake, Marseille. The man is a thief. He has been his whole life. It’s all about the gold for him – do you think he’ll be willing to take all this risk to steal it from Franco, only to donate it to the French Resistance?” She wasn’t sure who she was actually trying to convince – Marseille or herself, but she was not about to let him see that. “Come on. You know better than that.”

But Marseille stood his ground. “People steal for different reasons. Yes, some do it because they can’t be bothered to do an honest day’s work and they want to get rich quickly. But there are people who do it as a protest against an unfair system – a system that does not give everyone an equal opportunity to make a decent living.”  
Raquel could not believe her ears. “And you think Sergio Marquina falls into the latter category?” He did not respond, but that was an answer in itself, and she scoffed. “My God. I never pegged you as a misguided romantic, Marseille.” She paused, trying desperately to smother the large part of her heart that wanted to agree with him, and then changed tack. “And what about his brother, hmm? Do you really think that Berlin, with his overblown sense of self-importance, would willingly give up the gold?”  
Marseille’s shoulders sagged and she knew that she had him. Even if they could trust Sergio, the same could not be said for Berlin, and the stakes were too high to take a gamble on that. It simply was not an option.  
Marseille sighed, defeated. “The soldiers will do what I tell them to. What did you have in mind?”

-0-

Raquel had never been one to wallow in uncertainty, so the next day she cornered the Professor in the classroom, whilst he was poring over an Army operations manual. She got straight to the point. “Professor. I would like to know what my role will be during the heist,” she declared, folding her hands together to disguise the fact that they were actually shaking with tension.  
Sergio looked up, surprised to find someone else in the room, then pushed his glasses up his nose as he registered who it was and what she had asked. For the briefest of moments he seemed happy to see her and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, before he gathered himself and his expression became neutral once more. “Lisbon. Hi,” he began, playing for time as he ordered his thoughts, perhaps weighing up whether there would be any harm in telling her what she wanted to know. Then he extended an arm towards one of the chairs. “Have a seat.” He got up and came round the desk to lean against the front of it, and they looked at each other for a couple of seconds. The temperature in the room climbed a few degrees, or maybe it was just her imagination. But then he swallowed hard and she somehow knew; he had felt it too, this charge of electricity that arced between them whenever their eyes met.

“What would you like to know?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. He dressed in a suit every day and she wondered at that, wondered why he felt the need to almost always wear a jacket and tie.  
“Well, everyone is training for their role in the heist, or doing something practical. Except me. It makes me wonder what my contribution is going to be.”  
He regarded her solemnly, and she detected a trace of surprise in his look. “You have already made a significant contribution, Lisbon,” he responded, eager to put her mind at ease. “Without you, this thing would not have got off the ground in the first place.”  
She smiled, pleased at the recognition. “Yes, I realise that. But what am I going to do during the execution of the heist?” She shrugged. “I would hate to have to sit it out here, with nothing to do,” she confessed, and understanding dawned in his eyes.  
“I see.” He frowned slightly, and she wondered whether that had actually been his plan – to isolate her here during the heist, in order to perhaps double-cross her? Or was that only her own guilty conscience talking? But then he said, “I apologise, I should have talked to you sooner. I actually need you to play the role of Mrs Martín again during the heist.” He smiled uncertainly. “If that is okay with you?”

She tilted her head in a wordless query, and he elaborated. “I’ve secured a warehouse in Minglanilla, which will be our base of operations during the heist. But a man on his own will attract undue attention, so it would be helpful if you can once again accompany me.” He swallowed once more, then added hastily, “It would also be useful for me to have access to your knowledge about Army and Police matters during the heist, so your presence will have more than one benefit.”  
He was anxious to assure her that she would be more than mere window dressing, and she was touched by that. She had endured enough years of being little more than that in her marriage, and it was empowering to know that Sergio- that the Professor saw her potential. And of course, it would be all the easier to execute her own plan if she was to be in the middle of the action. So she nodded and smiled. “Yes of course, whatever you need from me,” she responded, and something flashed across his face, something almost like yearning, and as she walked away she wondered what had sprung to his mind at her words.

-0-

The next few days passed agonisingly slowly, as they waited for word from Tokyo. They needed the radio frequencies to have any chance of success, and as the time passed and they heard nothing, Raquel wracked her brain for an alternative way to get their hands on the information. Perhaps she could go to Army Headquarters in Madrid, under the guise of seeing Colonel Prieto for some reason or other, but there were a number of factors that made that a bad idea. For one, she was supposed to be in Lisbon, visiting her daughter – what if she ran into anyone that knew that and might inform Alberto that she was still in Spain? And on top of that, she could not think of any believable reason to meet with Prieto. As she helped Nairobi with the insignia one morning, she broached the subject. “Do you think Tokyo will succeed?” she asked, and Nairobi looked up at her, surprised.  
“Of course.” There wasn’t a shred of doubt in the answer and Raquel cocked her head, intrigued. Nairobi smiled fondly. “Tokyo is the bravest, most resourceful woman I have ever met,” she divulged. “She may be hot-headed and unpredictable, but there’s nobody I would rather have on my side in a pinch.” She nodded. “She’ll come through.”  
Raquel smiled back, hoping the forger was right, but she couldn’t help but wonder whether that hot-headedness might cost them dear yet.

But the next afternoon, grinning triumphantly, Tokyo appeared, waving the Third Army Battalion communications manual in the air. As she handed it over to the Professor, she smirked in Raquel’s direction. “That Captain Suarez is quite the dish,” she proclaimed, hoping to elicit a reaction, “it was not a hardship at all to seduce him.” The statement puzzled Raquel – why would she care about what Tokyo had done with Suarez? Then she remembered how she had stressed his good looks during her briefing to the other woman, and she realised that Tokyo had surmised that Raquel had a thing for the Captain. She shook her head and turned away, smiling to herself. Let them think that; then, perhaps, they would not notice that she was developing a ‘thing’ for their beloved Professor, because she sensed that would be dangerous. For now, though, there were other matters to focus on; they had the codes, and now they were in business.

_tbc_


	10. Guilt

_It was a relationship that ended because it couldn’t go anywhere, because it never should have begun.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_13-20 November  
_ The next few days were taken up by intensive instruction from the Professor. Raquel almost felt like she was back in school, as they sat chained to their small desks in the classroom for hours whilst he drilled home the action to be taken in every eventuality. And now, at long last, she finally got a glimpse of the full plan. Some of the aspects she had already guessed at, but there were contingencies she had never even thought of which the Professor had planned for in detail. Cut down to its bare bones, though, the plan was fairly straightforward: they would blow the bridge minutes before the train was to arrive, causing it to come to a stop in the valley carved by the Cabriel River. It would force the soldiers guarding the train to call for alternative transport for the gold, and this request would be re-routed to the closest Army base – that of the Third Army Battalion. Rio’s machine would block the signal to the actual base and allow the Professor to intercept the request at the warehouse in Minglanilla. Marseille and his soldier friends, under the command of ‘Captain Suarez’, who would in fact be Berlin in disguise, would turn up with the required trucks to assist, and simply drive off with the gold once loaded. It sounded so simple, but Raquel could tell from the Professor’s serious expression as he detailed this last part, that he was well aware of how many things could go wrong at that point. He paused and faced them, looking at each person in turn. “This will be the most crucial part of the heist,” he said, emphasizing each word with a stab of his thumb. “Don’t be under any illusions – if they realise you are not who you claim to be, they will shoot you on the spot. This regime does not ask questions first, so there will be no chance to talk yourselves out of trouble.”

Raquel looked to Marseille, concerned, but he did not seem unduly troubled. He was a seasoned soldier who had seen many battles, the latest of which had been against the might of the German army. Being potentially outnumbered by a company of Spanish soldiers did not hold any particular terror for him, apparently. Of course, what made his role doubly dangerous, was the fact that this moment in the heist also presented their best chance to take the gold from the thieves. She hoped that as few of the thieves as possible would be present at that time, but then the Professor dashed those hopes almost immediately. “Because of the danger involved, the rest of us will all be close by, so that we can provide additional firepower if everything should go to hell.”  
Fuck. There would be no easy way out – they would have to face all these people as they double-crossed them. This time she deliberately did not look at Marseille, knowing he was unhappy about her plan, so she focussed on Sergio instead. He would surely never forgive her, and the knowledge caused a deep ache to settle in her heart. There would be no future for them, something she realised with sudden clarity she had subconsciously begun to hope for with every fibre of her being. What a cruel taskmaster life was, she thought miserably, that it would awaken her heart only to allow in the one person she had to deceive and betray.

-0-

That night she could not sleep, kept awake by her conscience and her heartache in equal measure. She could not stop thinking about it – about the fact that if circumstances had been different, she could have had the opportunity to fall in love again, to do it right this time. Her dark thoughts eventually drove her from underneath the covers, and she shivered as she shrugged into her dressing gown. The temperature had fallen sharply over the last few hours, and she knew that winter had well and truly arrived. It was an additional worry – if it was this cold in mid-November, it normally meant that snow was on the way, and that might complicate matters for the heist. What would they do if the routes around Minglanilla became impassable? She put on her coat over the dressing gown and ventured from her room, intent on seeking something warm to drink from the kitchen, and almost broke her neck over the dog sleeping in front of her door. Pamuk yelped and scurried out of the way as she inadvertently stepped on his leg, and she laid her hand on his head in apology. “Sorry, old friend,” she murmured, and was relieved to see him wag his tail in response. “Come along – I’m sure I can find a treat for you,” she invited, and the dog trotted after her down the stairs.

In the kitchen she found it a few scraps of ham, and watched as he wolfed it down whilst she made herself a cup of coffee. As she wandered back towards the stairs she noticed a flickering light coming from the lounge, and hesitated. Someone must have forgot to put out the fire, and she moved towards it, expecting to find the room deserted. But it was not – a lone figure was seated in one of the armchairs, staring into the fire, a glass of wine at his elbow. Her heart skipped a beat. Sergio. Her gaze traced over his features, her hand bunching into a fist at her side as she was overcome by a sudden desire to rake her fingers through his beard. He looked lost in thought, and she began to back out of the room, loathe to disturb his solitude. But she must have made a noise because his head jerked up, and his dark eyes came to rest on her face. “Raquel,” he said, and later, whenever she would look back upon this night, she would wonder if things might have gone differently if he had called her Lisbon instead.  
“Sorry,” she responded, flustered at being caught staring, “I thought someone had forgot to put out the fire.” She took another step backwards only to find her path blocked by the bulk of the dog, standing firm behind her and watching the man by the fire unblinkingly.  
“I don’t mind,” he said softly, and there was something in his voice, a trace of melancholy, that kept her rooted to the spot. She grasped the cup with both hands, holding it in front of her like a shield, uncertain whether to stay or go. He made the decision for her. “Would you like to join me?” he asked, inclining his head toward the other chair, and before she knew what she was doing her feet took her forward, towards him.

She settled in the other chair, observing him from the corner of her eye as she did so. He was still in his day-clothes, but had loosened the tie and now it hung around his neck, unknotted. The fire crackled and for a few seconds she said nothing, merely enjoyed its warmth and the presence of the man next to her. Then, conscious of the silence stretching out, she turned her head to him, about to make some inane comment about the weather. But when her eyes met his, fixed upon her face with undisguised hunger, the words died on her lips. She had assumed that he was contemplating the heist, but now she understood that it was not concern about their planned criminal endeavour which kept him up, sitting alone in the dark. It was something else, something far more personal, and potentially much more dangerous. Desire. Infatuation. The attraction arced between them, unchecked by the presence of others, and perhaps that was why neither of them could find the strength to resist. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but they both leant forward, towards each other, until their lips met. She closed her eyes, overcome by a tumult of sensations, and in the second it lasted her whole world changed forever.

-0-

Her lips touched his. For the life of him, Sergio would afterwards have no explanation for how it had happened. He was not aware of any specific thought process on his part, any conscious decision to kiss her. But he had definitely contributed to it happening – of that at least he was aware, for they met halfway in the space between their chairs for this momentous occurrence. He had been sitting in front of the fire, alone with his thoughts, every corner of his mind occupied by her. Lisbon. Raquel. He could not control it; she slipped through every crack and crevasse of his consciousness, and he could not find the will to keep her out. For the first time in his life, reason could not control his heart. He liked her. He wanted her. He yearned to soothe her loneliness, and his own. And then, as though brought there by the searing intensity of his desire, she stood in the door, her eyes wandering over his face. God, she was so beautiful. So smart and wonderful. She was everything he could ever want in a partner, and before he knew what he was doing he had invited her to join him. Perhaps, he thought, that was the moment he had lost the battle against his feelings.

The kiss lasted for a mere second, but it was enough. In that second he felt something he had never felt before: a sense of belonging, of peace. His mind went completely quiet, free from thought, and allowed every corner of his being to be occupied by her presence, by what she was making him feel. It was wondrous, it was addictive, and when she pulled back he felt bereft. She stared at him, her pupils blown wide, and all he could do was to stare back. He was struck dumb, unable to form a single word, breathing fast. She searched his face, and apparently found what she was looking for, because she closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his once more, and at last he came alive. He wanted more, he needed more, and his hands came up to frame her face as he deepened the kiss. _Yes. At last._ That was the last conscious thought he had, as the chemistry between them spiralled out of control in an instant. There was a crash as she tried to put the cup down on the table next to her and missed, to free her hands and reciprocate his actions. They weaved around his neck, into his hair, as she moaned softly into the kiss. The tiny, almost inaudible sound was his undoing, and he pulled at her, trying to get more contact between them. She came willingly, settling into his lap, straddling him, and fireworks began to explode in his brain.

Everything faded away but her. He forgot about his rules, about his plan, about his brother’s warnings. He forgot that there were other people in the house and that someone could walk in on them at any moment. And he forgot that he usually didn’t know what to do with women, that he was shy and conservative. He operated on pure instinct, his hands joining hers between them to loosen his shirt buttons, before grasping her coat lapels and manoeuvring it off her shoulders. She shrugged out of it and it sank to the floor, unheeded. He pulled at the sash holding her dressing gown together, and it fell open, baring her nightdress to him. He let out a strangled sound of frustration – so many layers – and she stopped kissing him for a second to lift the material over her head. And finally she was almost naked before him, her breasts glowing in the firelight, and he was mesmerised. He reached out a hand hesitatingly, tracing a finger over the left mound, marvelling at the softness of her skin. Goose pimples sprung up in the wake of his touch and his gaze lifted to hers, wonderingly. She smiled at him, and murmured, “Sergio,” and he leant forward and took her nipple into his mouth.  
“Yes,” she gasped, arching her back and pushing herself into him, and he felt her hands fumble between them, trying to loosen his trousers, and he knew that he would have her this night. They shed the remainder of their clothes in a flurry of activity, before she settled on his lap once more, her arousal wet against his erection. He ran his hands over her back, tracing the valley of her spine, before they came to rest on her hips and pulled her tightly against him.  
“I-“ he began, then stopped, thinking better of what he was about to say. It was too soon for any declarations of devotion, surely, but he had the suspicion that she could read it in his face all the same. She traced her fingers over his cheek as she stared into his eyes, a tender smile curving her lips, before she bucked against him in invitation. She didn’t say anything, but it was clear what she wanted – him inside her as soon as possible. His cock twitched in anticipation, and he let her go so that she could lift herself, position him, and slowly sink down on his length.

_Oh, fuck, yes._ She looked down at him, her hair framing her face, and his hands came up to support her back as they paused for a moment, getting used to the feeling of being joined together, and it felt so good. He was enveloped in her heat, and her soft breasts were pressed against his chest, and he could feel her fingernails digging into the tender skin at the back of his neck. Eventually she began to move and he strove to meet her stroke for stroke, clenching his jaw against the overwhelming pleasure. Through it all she watched him, holding his gaze and barely blinking, and he found it strangely comforting. It contributed to the intimacy of the moment, somehow made it more personal, and he strived harder in response, buried himself deeper inside her on each thrust until a blush began to push up her chest and he knew that she was close. She bit her lip and sped up, until they were both bathed in sweat from their efforts. They were quiet, the only sound that of flesh slapping together and their harsh breaths, until she finally fell over the edge and a high-pitched gasp escaped her as she came, convulsing around his hard length. She collapsed against him, pressing her mouth against his shoulder as he managed a few more thrusts before he came too, emptying himself inside her.

They clung to each other in the aftermath, riding out the aftershocks, and he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her musk – a mixture of clean, feminine skin, sweat and sex, and it was heady and made his head swim with renewed desire. As he held her against him, he felt her tongue flicker against his skin as she tasted him, and he knew that he would never get enough of her, no matter how many times they had intercourse. It was as though his desire for her was programmed into his DNA, inseparable from his being. He ran some strands of her hair through his fingers, and it was like touching gold, and she pressed closer to him in response. Her nipples stood to attention against his chest and his heart swelled; he had done that, had aroused her body just as she had done to his. The thought made him smile against her skin, and she pulled back to look at him.  
“What?”  
“Nothing.” He was basking in post-coital bliss and did not want to move, to think or articulate any thoughts.  
But she would not let it go. “No, come on. What are you thinking?”  
He smiled giddily. “That I can’t believe you want to sleep with me,” he admitted, and felt her stiffen.

Oh shit, he’d said exactly the wrong thing, hadn’t he? “I don’t mean-“ he scrambled, but she was already disentangling herself. She noticed his panic, and he saw a flash of remorse cross her face.  
“I’m sorry,” she sighed, and there was something that sounded suspiciously like guilt in her voice. “I shouldn’t have let this happen,” she added, and he shook his head in confusion.  
“I don’t understand,” he almost pleaded, watching helplessly as she scrabbled around the floor for her underwear.  
She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m still married,” she said dully, and he stared at her in amazement.  
“But the marriage is over,” he protested. “Isn’t it?”  
She looked away. “Yes. But I should have waited until it is official.”  
He almost laughed, until he saw her stricken expression, so he said nothing. Who was he to judge her particular set of morality? But when she reached the door, her coat bundled in her hands, he called after her. “Raquel.” She stopped but did not look at him. “I’ll be here, when you’re ready,” he promised, and saw her hands clench around the material before she stepped through the door and hurried away.

-0-

She did not slow down until she had reached her room and locked the door behind her. She unceremoniously dropped her coat on the floor and sank down on the edge of the bed, burying her head in her hands. What the hell had she done? A wave of guilt swept through her, leaving her whole body trembling. And it was not because she was technically still married – that had just been an excuse to cover up the truth – but because she intended to double-cross the man she had just slept with. She could still smell him on her skin, taste him in her mouth, feel his length inside her. He had made her body sing with pleasure, had made her feel genuinely happy for the first time in longer than she cared to remember, and she was going to double-cross him. There would be no future for them. Tears came, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent any sound from coming out. And even though she knew there was no choice – that the future of Europe was more important than a personal relationship, there was only one thought in her mind, over and over: _I’m sorry._

_tbc_


	11. Persuasion

_Two women hidden away in a dark little room, one laying out a dangerous, fully thought out plan, and the other, terrified, refusing to accept it.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_21 November  
_ _Morning  
_ Raquel went down to breakfast the next morning with some trepidation – how would Sergio react after the previous night? She had slept with him and it had been wonderful, and then she had fled, essentially telling him it had been a mistake. There were very few men in the world who would take that well, who would not see it as a veiled criticism of their performance, and she would not want that. He had made her feel special, cherished, and as a result it had been the best sex of her life. It was important to her that he should know that, but she could hardly tell him that after leaving him high and dry. She sighed – what a mess she had got herself into. It took her a few seconds to work up the courage to step through the door of the dining room, but she did so with head held high and with a smile plastered on her face. _Never show weakness._ That had always been her motto, and she would stick to it in this particular situation as well. And of course, the first person her gaze landed on was him. He sat at the table, pushing some eggs around his plate disconsolately, and her heart ached. It took everything she had not to march up to him and to kiss him, and to hell with everything and everyone else. But then visions of what Adolf Hitler was doing to the Jews swam before her eyes, and she tore her gaze from him and sat down next to Nairobi instead.

She could feel the weight of his attention settle on her and couldn’t help but glance up at him. His eyes were dark and stormy and she smiled wanly, apologetically. He looked away without smiling back and she died a little inside – so this was how it was going to be; the incident would lie between them like a mountain from now on. She looked around the table, but thankfully no one else seemed to pick up on the tension between the Professor and Lisbon. And Denver appeared to be especially oblivious, because he said, “Hey, Professor, isn’t it about time you, me and Lisbon make that visit to Madrid so I can meet the girl I have to get out of the country?”  
Raquel’s head snapped to Sergio, startled. Surely he wouldn’t-  
“Yes, you’re right,” the Professor said to her consternation, giving her a look that was almost challenging, “we’ll go in under cover of darkness tonight.” And so her fate was sealed; she would have to endure hours in close proximity with the man she had treated so poorly.

-0-

_Early evening  
_ The three of them gathered by the front door, each with a small overnight bag, before Denver went out to bring the car around. It left Raquel and Sergio standing around, awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact, and it was with a sense of relief that she heard the car engine being revved outside. She hazarded a glance at Sergio as he bent to pick up his bag and, to her surprise, also took hers before marching outside without so much as a nod in her direction. She sighed unhappily; it was going to be a long night. The two men took the front seats and Raquel settled in the back, grateful for the relative privacy this arrangement afforded her. She could stare at Sergio’s profile without getting caught, and she made use of the opportunity, wallowing in the all-consuming desire that coursed through her whenever she looked at him. Images of the previous night came to mind unbidden; his tanned hand contrasting with the white skin of her thigh as he ran it up her leg in a burning caress, his lips locked around her nipple as she looked down upon his dark head. A jolt of arousal shot to her core and she shifted, clamping her legs together in an effort to control it. Fuck, what was wrong with her? She was 40 years old, for God’s sake, not some teenager with rampaging hormones. She turned her head to the darkening countryside instead and swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task ahead.

She had to think carefully about what she was going to say to Mónica. They had never discussed any details about what they would do after the heist, and she began to worry whether Mónica realised that she would have to leave Madrid, and Spain, in the aftermath. What if she didn’t want to? Raquel knew that Mónica’s parents were still alive and lived somewhere in the north of the country, but her friend seldom mentioned them and Raquel did not think their relationship was particularly close. But it was a whole different kettle of fish to leave the country and to never see them again, and she knew that she would baulk at any suggestion that she could never see her own mother again. And to make matters even worse, she would have to convince Mónica to go with a strange man, sweet but not particularly bright and a criminal to boot. It was going to be a challenge. And she also had to decide how much to divulge about her own plans, and particularly whether to say anything about the intended double-cross. She couldn’t see any way to avoid it, though, as Mónica was going to be in the company of one of the thieves who stood to lose a significant amount of the loot he thought he would get out of this caper. And she suspected that the betrayal of their criminal companions would not sit well with Mónica. She was likely to need all her skills of persuasion in the discussion that was drawing ever nearer.

-0-

As they reached the outskirts of Madrid, the Professor instructed her to lie down and out of sight. He did not want to risk Raquel being seen by any of her husband’s friends or colleagues and to inform Alberto that his wife was not actually in Lisbon, as she had claimed. She did as instructed, and her gaze settled on the pale oval of the Professor’s face above her. Even in the gloom she could see the tense set of his jaw; if they were stopped by the Police now, her presence would take some explaining. But for once fortune smiled on them, and they reached the street where Mónica lived without incident. She directed them to a small alley around the corner, and Denver backed the car into it. The darkness was now complete, as there were no streetlights in the alley and the buildings around them blocked out the moon. They sat in silence for a while, watching and listening, and the tension inside the car stretched to breaking point. Eventually, once they were sure that no one was interested in them, the Professor’s shoulders relaxed, and Raquel took her cue from him.  
“I think it’s best if I go and speak to her alone first,” she announced, her heart hammering in her ears. It was essential that she talk to Mónica alone – what would she do if the Professor refused?  
But to her relief he nodded and said, “Agreed. We’ll wait here. If someone becomes curious and we have to leave, we’ll do a pass by the alley every five minutes, so just wait here until we return.”

Raquel got out and moved around the corner cautiously, but it was late and the street was deserted. She hurried to Mónica’s apartment building and only relaxed once she reached the sanctuary of its lobby. Deciding not to risk being seen by someone in the elevator, she took the stairs to Mónica’s floor, and soon found herself in front of the door. She knocked furtively, hoping Mónica was still awake. She would prefer not to make a racket by banging on the door and alerting the neighbours to her presence; the fewer people who knew about this late night visit, the better. To her relief she heard footsteps inside, and kept her eyes on the spyhole, making sure Mónica could see her face clearly. Moments later the door swung open and her friend waved her inside with a broad smile, and Raquel was momentarily overcome by a wave of affection. She had missed Mónica, and it was really good to see her.  
The two women hugged tightly, holding onto each other for dear life, and Raquel felt the other woman breathe deeply. “Oh my God, Raquel. I was so worried I’d never see you again,” she confessed as they finally parted, and Raquel reached out and squeezed her arm.  
“I’m fine,” she assured.  
“Really?”  
“Yes, really.”  
“But you’ve been staying with that thief for almost a month now,” Mónica stated, as though that fact in itself precluded Raquel from being as fine as she claimed. And she was right of course, although not for the obvious reasons. But now was not the time to confess the mess she found herself in.  
“Yes I have, but really, things have gone quite well,” she insisted, smiling brightly in an attempt to hide her worries.  
Mónica regarded her closely, then relented. If she sensed that something was amiss, she gave no sign. Instead she dragged Raquel over to the sofa and demanded, “Tell me everything.”

Raquel, conscious of the time, relayed the developments of the last few weeks succinctly, sticking to the matters pertaining to the plan and carefully avoiding anything more personal. Mónica’s eyes widened at the mention of the explosives and the plan to blow up the bridge, and Raquel could see the reality of what she had got involved in hit home for the first time. She hurried on, not giving Mónica any time to dwell on it. “There is also a plan for your extraction from the country,” she added, as though it wasn’t a life-altering change she was proposing, and the other woman paled.  
“…Extraction?” she repeated, and Raquel grabbed her hands in an effort to keep her with her.  
“You can’t stay here, Mónica. Arturo will soon guess that you were the one that leaked the information about the gold transfer. He will have you arrested,” she added brutally, and Mónica swallowed.  
“But where would I go?” she asked helplessly, and Raquel smiled and squeezed her hands. “Wherever you want – eventually.”  
“But-“  
“Haven’t you ever dreamt of living somewhere exotic?” Raquel pressed. “Somewhere you can make a clean start of things, out of the clutches of Arturo Róman?” Mónica’s head dropped, and Raquel dipped her head in an effort to look at her face. “Hey. What’s wrong? It’s why you agreed to help me, isn’t it – a chance for a fresh start?”  
“Yes.” It was almost a whisper, and when she lifted her head again tears glistened in her eyes. “But I don’t know if I can do it, Raquel. I’m sorry.”

Raquel took a breath, trying to quell the panic. _Shit._ And she hadn’t even told her friend that she intended to double-cross the thieves. “Mónica,” she began, as gently as she could, “I am convinced that you can. You are one of the strongest women I have ever met.“ Mónica scoffed, but Raquel ignored it and bulldozed on. “You are smart, and brave, and you work hard. If anyone can start a new life somewhere else, it’s you.” She was relieved to see a glimmer of a smile begin to break through, but Mónica was not completely convinced yet.  
“How would I get out of the country? I mean, how does one do that? Surely I can’t just walk through one of the border posts, or board a train?”  
“Ah.” Raquel smiled encouragingly. “Like I said, the Professor has included it in his plan. There’s a young man waiting outside, and he will escort you out of the city and over the border when the time comes. He knows the ropes – all you have to do is follow his instructions.”  
Mónica looked alarmed. “I have to go with one of the thieves? A criminal?”  
“They’re not bad people, Mónica,” Raquel responded, surprised by the defensive note that had crept into her voice. The other woman picked up on it and cocked her head warily, wondering what was going on. Marseille’s words came back to Raquel and she repeated them now, realising more than ever how much she agreed with them. “People steal for different reasons, you know. Not all of them are motivated by greed or laziness. Some…” Sergio’s face flashed before her and she swallowed, “Some are forced into it by an unfair system, one that never gave them a chance to be part of mainstream society.” She straightened her spine and looked Mónica in the eye. “Just like you and me who, because we happen to be women, can never be more than servants to men, be they our husband or our boss.”

Raquel fell silent, momentarily lost in her own thoughts, as all those years of subjugation by Alberto came back to her. She remembered the blows, the belittling, the wilful oppression and refusal to allow her to be anything more than a slave. Then Mónica sighed, bringing her back to the present, and when Raquel looked up she was smiling tentatively. “You’re right,” she conceded, nodding to emphasize her decision, “and if you trust this guy then I’ll go along with it.”  
Raquel nodded solemnly. “His name is Denver, and I trust him,” she said simply, and the younger woman accepted her judgement without question. Oh, God, what if she was wrong? Guilt flooded Raquel, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether she was about to drag her closest friend down into an abyss with her. Yes, Denver would not betray the heist, but how would he react once he found out that she had double-crossed them? Would Mónica remain safe in his hands even then? She simply did not know, and these concerns decided her: Mónica deserved the truth.

“…Listen. There’s something you should know about me, and about this heist,” she said, her expression as grave as Mónica had ever seen it. She waited uncertainly, not sure where this was going. Raquel got up and began to pace the room, suddenly restless. After a few turns she turned to Mónica and announced, “I work for British Intelligence.”  
Mónica’s mouth fell open. “…What?”  
“I offered them my services when I went to Lisbon with Mama and Paula, and it’s why I returned to Madrid.”  
Mónica stared at her, flabbergasted. She had always wondered why Raquel had not simply stayed in Lisbon, out of reach of her abusive husband. But British Intelligence?! “Why?!”  
Raquel turned even more serious. “Because the British are the ones trying to stop Adolf Hitler.” She took a step towards Mónica. “He has to be stopped, Mónica. What he is doing to the Jews, basically trying to exterminate a whole race – it’s abominable. I cannot stand by and watch it happen, if I can do something about it.”  
Mónica began to shake her head. “But what can you possibly do?”  
Raquel squared her shoulders. “Alberto has a lot of friends in the military and some of them are close to General Franco, so I knew that I could get information about the General’s plans. I could forewarn the English if he planned to enter Spain into the war on Hitler’s side.”  
“So you’re spying against your own country?” Mónica asked, horrified, but Raquel did not blink.  
“Yes. Because lending any support to Germany would be wrong. Morally, ethically, as far as basic human decency is concerned. The war is balanced on a knife-edge – Britain and its allies are hanging on by their fingernails at the moment. If we – Spain – should come to Germany’s aid, it might just be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And then where will we be? We will all become complicit in Hitler’s distasteful policies. No. It’s wrong, and I have to do what I can to prevent it. I have a duty to – we all do.”

A heavy silence settled on the room as Mónica processed what her friend had said. God, what had she got herself into? It was bad enough to plot to steal the government’s gold, but this – this was treason. “You should have told me,” she said eventually, and Raquel blinked at the trace of accusation in Mónica’s voice.  
She sat down next to her again. “Yes. Probably. But I wanted to protect you until I was sure we had a chance to pull it off.”  
“So this plan to steal the gold – it’s actually a plot to prevent Spain from giving it to Hitler?”  
“Yes.”  
“And this thief – the Professor – he’s happy to help you do that?”  
Oh, fuck, here it was, the moment of truth. “…He doesn’t know.”  
Mónica’s head whipped towards her. “What?!” Raquel said nothing, and that was all the confirmation Mónica needed. It was her turn to jump to her feet and begin to pace. “My God, Raquel. What are you doing?”  
“I’m going to double-cross the thieves and send most of the gold to the French Resistance, to fund their fight against the Germans.” Each time she said it, Sergio’s heated gaze flashed before her eyes, and she found her decision harder to stomach.  
“You can’t be serious.” Mónica stared at her as though she was seeing her in a whole new light, one that wasn’t necessarily flattering. It was inevitable, Raquel supposed; even though her actions were noble and justified, she was still betraying her country, and now plotting to betray the thieves that were helping her to achieve that first objective. But she had made her choice, and now it was time to press through.  
“I am deadly serious. I will let each person who helps us keep enough of it to start new lives somewhere else, but the bulk of it is going to the Resistance.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a slip of paper with a number on it. “Call this number tomorrow. The man on the other side will supply you with a gun and show you how to use it.” Mónica took a breath, probably to object, but Raquel did not give her the chance. “As soon as you are across the border, you ditch Denver and call that number again, and someone will collect you and take you to my mother in Lisbon. I’ll join you there eventually and then we’ll figure out what to do. Alright?“ She waited until Mónica nodded, then added, “And now it’s time to meet Denver,” and headed for the door.

Mónica remained behind, too shocked to move. _A gun._ It was all too clear what it was for; to help her get away from Denver once the time came. Dear God, what had she got herself into? But before she could tie herself further into knots, Raquel was back, this time with an unfamiliar man at her shoulder.  
“Mónica, I’d like you to meet Denver.”  
They stared at each other, one petrified and the other curious. Mónica didn’t know what to make of him – he was about her age and not bad-looking, but it was the first time in her life that she was face-to-face with a criminal. But then the biggest smile she had ever seen broke out over his face and he blurted, “Fuck me, you’re really pretty,” and something released in her chest.  
“Uh, thank you,” she mumbled, somewhat reassured. He was just a man, in the end – perhaps it would not be so bad.  
“You have to go into the office the morning of the gold transfer,” Raquel informed her, and her heart-rate spiked once more. “Everything must seem normal. It will take about two hours for the train to reach Minglanilla, so you have to time your exit carefully. Exactly one and a half hour after the train leaves the station, you must make up some excuse and leave the Mint. Denver here will be waiting outside with a car, and get you the hell out of Madrid.”

It seemed so easy, but Mónica knew that it was anything but. “Arturo is not an idiot – he’ll put two-and-two together pretty damn quick once I disappear and he’ll know I was involved – they’ll be on the lookout for me at all the border crossings. We’ll never get through.”  
Her face was etched with fear but Denver merely laughed. It was a strange, braying laugh and she glared at him, offended. Was he mocking her for being afraid? “Don’t worry,” he said, “we won’t be going near any of the official border crossings.” He puffed out his chest. “I know all the smuggling routes into Portugal by heart – we’ll use one of those.”  
His confidence was reassuring and she capitulated, too stunned to do anything else. “Okay,” she said, looking to Raquel, who stepped forward on impulse and hugged her. They clung to each other and she heard Raquel whisper into her ear, “See you in Lisbon,” and then they were gone, stealing away into the darkness once more like the thieves they were all about to become.

They were embarking on the most dangerous of times in both their lives and Monica looked after her friend, wondering if she would ever see her again.

_tbc_


	12. Denial

_For me he was something more: a tremor, a magnet, a certainty.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_22 November  
_ _Toledo  
_ The next day they left for Minglanilla, filtering away in ones and twos, in different vehicles and via different routes. Only the Professor and Lisbon would actually enter the town openly, the rest would slip in unnoticed throughout the night. Mr and Mrs Martín would once again stay in the shabby little hotel whilst Mr Martín ostensibly set up his new business – brewing cider, whilst the rest would bunk in the warehouse that the Professor had leased. Thus Raquel found herself alone in the car with Sergio once more, and the house in Toledo disappearing in the mist behind them. It was freezing; the temperature had fallen sharply during the night and the grass along the edges of the road were brittle and shiny with frost. Raquel rubbed her hands together in a futile effort to get some warmth into them, and Sergio immediately reached for the heater. She mumbled her thanks as a blast of warm air was emitted, wondering miserably why he had to be so damn thoughtful. It just made it so much harder for her to stay away from him.  
“Do you think it’s going to snow?” she asked, and he glanced at her.  
“Yes,” he said shortly.  
Ah, so his magnanimity only stretched so far. She was perversely glad to learn that he could resort to such petty retaliation – if he had been more understanding she would have felt even worse, but almost immediately she felt bad. She had hurt him, apparently, and that had never been her intention. It had always been about her, about the secrets she was keeping, about her guilt at what she planned to do. And when she looked at his profile, she could see his jaw muscles bunched as he kept his mouth clamped tightly shut.

She turned away despondently, instead focussing on the scenery moving past and resigning herself to four hours of tense silence. But she couldn’t do it. She lasted all of ten minutes before she capitulated. “I’m really sorry,” she blurted, and he jerked his head towards her, startled. “About the other night,” she clarified, “truly sorry.”  
He focussed on the road once more, but she saw his hands clench around the steering wheel. “Now’s not the best time-“  
“I know. I’m sorry about that, too. But it’s important to me that you understand,” she persisted, cursing the slight wobble that crept into her voice. _Fuck, for the love of God, don’t cry…  
_ “I don’t,” he said somewhat spitefully, leaving her to figure out whether he was referring to continuing the discussion, or his grasp of the workings of her mind. She settled on the latter.  
“No. How could you?” The tension stretched between them as she sat huddled into herself, lost as to how she was going to explain it to him. She should have kept quiet, should never have broached the subject, but she had opened her stupid mouth and now she had to push through somehow. To her surprise he was the one who broke the silence.  
“Look, Raquel. I don’t mean to be difficult and I want to respect your decision – if you feel you need to wait until the divorce is finalised then that is your right.” He sighed deeply and she watched him, feeling wretched. He was so different from Alberto; those words would never have come out of her ex-husband’s mouth, and she felt her resolve begin to weaken. And then he obliterated it completely. “It’s just that I, uhm, I don’t have much experience with women, but when I’m with you I feel alive, truly alive, and I don’t want that feeling to go away. But I won’t pester you-“

She couldn’t let him continue. “Stop the car,” she pleaded, her world beginning to implode under the weight of her guilt.  
“…What?”  
“Stop. Stop the fucking car, Sergio. Please.”  
Whether it was the profanity or the use of his name she didn’t know, but he obeyed with commendable alacrity. He swerved onto the shoulder and she saw an abandoned farmhouse a short distance away, with a small dirt-track linking it to the main road. She pointed towards it. “Pull in there,” she said, and once more he followed her instruction without question. He had barely rolled to a stop behind the building and switched off the engine before she had the door open and got out. She walked a few paces away, a hand pressed to her mouth to keep from flying apart, from confessing everything on the spot. She heard his door open as well and his footsteps coming closer, until they stopped a few metres behind her.  
“What’s the matter?” His voice was laced with worry, and once more she couldn’t believe how different his reaction was from Alberto’s. From him she would only have got impatience and derision, and comments about women being weak and emotional. But Sergio, instead, sounded like he actually cared, like he really wanted to know.  
A tear escaped and she swiped at it before turning around. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and he half-shook his head in bafflement. “There are things…” She stopped and took a steadying breath. “Things, uhm, that I can’t tell you. But when you find out about them one day, you will change your mind about me.”

He stared at her, and to her surprise she saw tears also glimmering in his eyes. This awkward, shy man, she realised, felt things more deeply than people would guess, and her heart broke even further. He did not deserve this – they were the right people at the wrong time, caught up in the madness that had overcome the world in this time of war, and in a few short days she would shatter his heart and his soul, and it was unbearable.  
“Maybe,” he said slowly, “I might be more flexible than you think. I know I seem set in my ways but I can bend-“  
Oh, God, this was even worse – he still thought this was about him, and she cut him off hastily. “You make me feel more alive too,” she interrupted. “And cherished and… special. And you don’t deserve any of this. But I can’t – there are things out of my control, and I can’t let you believe we may have a future together when I know it isn’t true.”  
They stood in the deserted field, an icy wind swirling around them, and looked at one another, each caught in their own personal hell. When she took a step towards him the frost crackled underfoot and she suddenly realised how cold she was, and wrapped both her arms around her. The gesture seemed to shake him out of his funk and he smiled crookedly. “If we can’t have a future, we can still have a present, can’t we?” He watched her imploringly, his heart on his sleeve, his whole posture telling her that he couldn’t give her up, not yet, and her resistance crumbled.

She closed the distance between them with two quick steps, grabbed his face and kissed him. There was no rational thought involved, only pure instinct and desire, and she didn’t have the strength to fight it. Or perhaps, subconsciously, she really didn’t want to fight it anymore. She wanted every moment she could get with him, before it all collapsed around them. She wanted to make memories to take with her into the long, lonely future that stretched before her, to keep her company in her cold bed at night. Her thumbs traced over his cheeks, wiping at the icy tear-tracks, before her arms went around his neck and she pressed her body along the length of his. His lips were freezing but she soon warmed them up, and next thing she knew she was floating on air as he lifted her off her feet and carried her back to the car, without detaching his mouth from hers. He yanked open the back door and heaved her inside, and she grabbed hold of his lapels and pulled him on top of her. His hand slipped under her shirt and she hissed when his cold fingers came into contact with her skin, but when he made to withdraw she grabbed his wrist and stayed him, her eyes blazing with want, and he continued on his intended path and palmed her breast. They kissed hungrily, desperately, trying to quell the doubts, the warnings, the knowledge of the sheer craziness of what they were doing lurking in the back of their minds, and it worked. There was a rawness to their need that would not be satisfied until they were joined together once more, and they removed only the most essential of clothes to allow them to do that.

When at last she felt the head of his cock press against her entrance, a strangled sound escaped her, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and she pulled back to look into his eyes as he pushed inside. They exhaled together at the sensation, their breath misting and mingling together between them, and she fell through his gaze and right into his heart. And then they were moving together, fast and furious, generating their own heat until the windows misted over and they were isolated from the world outside. It was only them; everything else melted away. Here, in this cocoon, there was nothing that threatened to shatter their bliss, nothing that could tear them apart. There was no dangerous heist, no treason, no double-cross. There was no war and death and misery. There was only love and desire. She braced her foot against the window so that she could meet him thrust for thrust and gave herself over to the sensations, to the delicious arousal coursing through her veins. He made her feel like no-one else before him, as though his body had been shaped specifically to fit with hers, and even with the uncomfortable bunching of unremoved clothes between them, or his zipper scraping over her bare thigh, it was somehow magical, ethereal. When she would think back later on this day, she would remember it as lasting for hours, an almost never-ending ride of euphoria as she strove to reach her orgasm, when in reality she knew it could not have been more than a few minutes. They were both so keyed up, so desperate for each other, that it took very little to push them over the edge. He fell first, and the sensation of him emptying himself inside her dragged her over the cliff after him, and she clung to him as she came, seeing stars behind her eyelids.

It took a while for her to come back to earth, to become aware of his weight pressing her down into the seat, of the cold glass of the window against the sole of her foot, of the teeth of his zipper digging into her thigh. But she also became aware of his length still inside her, gradually beginning to soften and shrink, of his thumb tracing circles over her still-stiff nipple, and of his warm breath against her neck. She stayed still, content and sated, until he became too soft and slipped out of her. Only then did she move the hand that was buried in his hair, tracing her fingers over the sensitive skin at the back of his neck, and he pressed a kiss to her pulse point in response. When he lifted his head to look at her, she craned her neck to kiss him, to taste him one last time before they returned to reality, and he eagerly reciprocated, sucking her lower lip between his. He was a good kisser and she lost herself to his mouth for a while, until their sweat began to cool and she began to shiver. He pulled back then, eyes filled with concern. “We should get dressed; you’ll catch your death,” he murmured, and she laughed and traced a finger over the goose pimples breaking out all over his naked butt. “And you,” she said, lost in the afterglow, “we’ll catch our deaths together.” Her grin widened as an irreverent thought came to her. “Death by hypothermic fucking,” she pronounced, before dissolving into a bout of laughter. He watched on, enchanted by this naughty, playful side of her, and laughed with her. But it really was time to get going, so they reluctantly disentangled and dressed, and continued on their journey to Minglanilla.

-0-

This time, when they booked into the hotel, Sergio asked for a double room, carefully avoiding Raquel’s eyes as he did so. But she did not mind; to the contrary, she was pleased. In the hours since their tryst she had hunkered down behind a barrier of denial, shoving her head into the sand and refusing to see the red flags waving at her from all sides. She wanted to share a bed with him at night, yearned to feel the heat of his body close to hers. Once they had stowed their bags they made their way outside, informing the disinterested woman behind the desk that they were going for a walk. They were wrapped up against the cold, and once they stepped through the door Raquel slipped her hand into Sergio’s unthinkingly, and he smiled down at her. Evidently he was adopting the same ostrich-like approach than she was, pretending that nothing was amiss and that theirs was a normal relationship. They weaved through the streets for a while until they were certain they were not being followed, then made for the warehouse that would serve as the operations centre for the heist. Before they rounded the last corner that would bring them into sight, Sergio tugged on her hand and pulled her into a shadowy door portal, before lowering his lips to hers for a last kiss. They had not discussed it, but both knew there would be no shows of affection before the others. They would pretend that the Professor’s rules remained unbreached – that they were nothing more than co-conspirators. After a fervent embrace they made their way around the corner, a respectable distance between them. But the taste of him lingered on her lips for the rest of the day, a constant reminder of their changed circumstances as they prepared for action.

When they stepped through the hangar door, a few of the others were already there. She looked around in amazement, at the array of shortwave radios lined up along a number of tables, each with a card identifying its purpose and the wavelength it was operating on. Next to each sat a large recording machine, poised to record any chatter on its assigned radio. The people that had already arrived were scattered throughout the cavernous space, and to her right she saw three army trucks parked nose-to-tail. Against one wall rows of bunkbeds had been set up, and she saw Marseille and his soldier friends sprawled on some of them. Pamuk was there too, and he trotted over to greet her. She rubbed his head affectionately; she was fond of the dog. He would remain here in the warehouse with her during the heist, and the part of her mind that she allowed to still acknowledge what lay ahead, recognised that this could be useful to her. Over in a corner she saw Rio and Tokyo talking, their heads bent close together, and perhaps because of what she and Sergio had been up to, she was more attuned to almost invisible displays of affection, for she was now sure that those two were in love. It was interesting; the young man was not the type she would have expected Tokyo to go for. She glanced at Sergio, but he seemed to have become almost unaware of her. He was in full Professor mode, and she marvelled at the difference between the two personas. She knew which one she preferred – the sweet, supportive man she had slept with twice now rather than the colder, more calculating Professor, who had such a tight rein on his emotions.

He made a beeline for the radios, calling Rio over to join him, and Raquel wandered over to where Nairobi was fitting Berlin out in his uniform. He made a dashing soldier, but the sight left her unmoved. There was only one man that could set her pulse racing, that could turn her on by merely being in her eyeline, and the realisation warmed her chest. Berlin looked up as she approached and smirked; that cocky, self-assured smile that set her teeth on edge.  
“What do you think, Lisbon?” he said, “will I pass for your handsome Captain Suarez?”  
He was mocking her, and she glanced at Nairobi as she responded. “Well, you’re nowhere near as good-looking as him, but the uniform is a masterpiece. They’ll never know the difference.”  
Nairobi snorted, enjoying the put-down, while at the same time looking pleased at the compliment. Berlin laughed softly, but his eyes narrowed in annoyance and she could see that he did not appreciate her comment. So she smiled sweetly and turned to the working table to help Nairobi with the final few uniforms, ignoring Sergio’s brother as he continued to watch her. Did he suspect? Could he somehow tell that she had slept with Sergio? Her gaze involuntarily went to the man in question, and she swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat as she watched him laugh about something Tokyo had said. He was so wonderful, and she was so goddamn happy when she was with him. That was when she realised: she had fallen head-over-heels in love with the man she needed to double-cross, to deceive in order to try and save Europe from the German dictator’s tyranny. Oh, God, what was she going to do?

It was nearly midnight by the time they left the hangar and returned to the hotel, and the temperature had dropped even further. Raquel fervently hoped that the heating in the hotel worked, gamely trying to ignore the little voice that told her it didn’t matter – that Sergio had proven himself more than capable of warming her up. She risked a glance at him as they passed under a streetlamp, to see a tiny smile hovering around his mouth. God, she hoped that it was as a result of her – that he was also looking forward to snuggling together under the bedcovers. He must have become aware of her scrutiny because his gaze flicked to her, and she was inexplicably overcome with nerves. It was ridiculous; she had slept with him twice already, why would the prospect of spending the night together make her nervous? But, of course, she knew why. Because she had finally admitted the truth to herself: that this thing between them had become more than a passing fling to her. She was in love, hopelessly so, and that gave the impending sleeping arrangements additional meaning.  
“Cold, isn’t it?” she commented inanely, and he looked at her, taking in her red nose and cheeks, before he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his side to share his body heat.  
“Better?”  
It was. “Yes. Thank you,” she mumbled, her voice small. How was she going to give this up – give him up? There was no choice, but it was going to kill her. And so, once they reached their room, she undressed them both with undue haste and pressed him down on the mattress so she could straddle him, and proceeded to ride him into oblivion, trying to forget everything but the joy of their union. He let her take everything she needed from him unquestioningly, and when she collapsed on top of him and wept silently into his neck in the aftermath, he held her and pretended he did not feel the wetness of her tears against his skin.

_tbc_


	13. Disillusionment

_Yes, I built a wall to avoid falling desperately in love with Marcus, you’re right. And just the same he managed to get past it. He slipped through the net and reached me.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_23 November  
_ _Minglanilla  
_ Sergio struggled through the mists of sleep to consciousness, vaguely wondering why his body was so reluctant to wake up. Normally he would go from sleep to full waking in an instant, conditioned by years of sleeping alone, of living on the wrong side of the law. But this morning every cell in his body protested, clamouring to stay in this warm cocoon-  
That was it. There was a soft body pressed against his arm, and it all came back in a rush. Raquel. He turned his head and there she was, sleeping on her right side, her back wedged firmly against his arm. A wave of affection rolled over him as he watched her breathe evenly, seemingly at peace. What a beguiling woman she had turned out to be. She had broken through his defences with consummate ease, without even trying. Indeed, he had the distinct impression that she had done her utmost not to get involved with him, but that, just like him, she had been blind-sided by the attraction that sparked between them. The previous night came back to him; her glorious body above him, the love shining from her eyes as she looked down on him, as she rode him until he could barely remember what day it was. And then the tears in the aftermath. He didn’t have much experience with sex, but he was pretty sure one wasn’t supposed to cry afterwards, and it gave him pause. What had brought it on?

He had been too scared to ask, afraid that it would ruin this strange relationship, lived in-between the folds of the biggest criminal venture he had ever attempted. Everything was wrong about it, and yet nothing had ever felt so right. His brother’s warning came to him – _she’s hiding something_ – and he now knew that Andrés had been right. She had said as much yesterday. What if these things she wouldn’t tell him could impact on the heist? He needed to know, needed to plan for every eventuality. It was enough reason to stop this madness, to keep his distance from her and keep a careful eye on her. And yet he couldn’t. He would let her keep her secrets, just so that he could have more moments like these with her. So that he could wake her up with a kiss to her bare shoulder, could watch her turn towards him and trace her fingers over his cheek, smiling sleepily, lovingly. Just so that he could lean over and kiss her, her mouth an oasis of warmth in the cold morning air, and so that she could pull him into the cradle of her legs, could coax him to full erectness, could position him at her entrance and let him push inside her once more. In that moment, there was no secret in the world that would force him to stop, to pull away from her.

They made love slowly, moving together leisurely, without any urgency, their gazes locked together. He was not a religious man but right then he felt like he had reached his own particular heaven.  
“Mmm. I don’t mind waking up like this at all,” she murmured, her hands weaving into his hair, and he smiled. Making her happy, making her laugh and her voice go low and laced with desire, had become his ultimate goal in life, and everything else could go to hell. They kissed, and caressed, and strove together for as long as they could make it last, and he gritted his teeth, kept his own lust in check until she at last lifted her legs and locked her ankles behind his back, and urged him to speed up, to give her more. To give her everything he had, and he complied without hesitation. He lifted onto his arms and drove into her while she clawed at his biceps, scrabbling for purchase to meet him thrust for thrust. And still she begged for more – _harder, faster_ – causing him to lose every inhibition he had ever had about sex, to fuck her with total freedom and abandon, until she flew apart under him and her pupils blew wide with her forceful orgasm. Only then did he let himself go, did he let her watch as he exploded inside her, let her read the true depth of his adoration for her as he emptied himself.

In the aftermath they lay curled together, too stunned to speak. Her hand smoothed over his flank and his buttock as he pressed his face into her hair, inhaling her scent and committing it to memory. He worried that she might cry again, but when he lifted his head to look at her she was smiling, still breathing hard. Her hair was sleep-tousled and her face and chest flushed with arousal, and she had never been more beautiful to him. As he gazed into her eyes, he silently vowed to do everything in his power to have a future with her. Whatever her secret was – this thing that she believed would prevent them from being together after the heist – he would find a way to solve it, to make her see that they belonged together. Surely there was nothing on earth that could trump this attraction between them.  
“Fuck me, Sergio,” she exclaimed, still floating high on the sensations they had created together, and he beamed.  
“I believe I just did,” he quipped, and she laughed giddily.  
“You most certainly did. That was…” She shook her head and pulled his head down to kiss him, opening her mouth to devour him, to stroke his tongue with hers in gratitude, and he thought his heart would burst. They could have this for the rest of their lives – no, scratch that, they _should_ have this for the rest of their lives. He was a stubborn man, once he decided on a particular course, and he had set his heart firmly on her now. He would find a way, and nothing would make him deviate from his decision.

-0-

And so started two days of unadulterated bliss for Raquel. She felt like she was walking on air, and she was amazed that no-one seemed to notice the change in her. Surely, she thought, people would see the permanent afterglow, the by-product of being so regularly and spectacularly fucked. And if not that, surely they would notice that she was besotted with their leader, unable to keep her eyes off him for longer than a few minutes when they were in the same room. But no-one did. She realised then that she was better at hiding her feelings than she had thought, that she was fooling them all. All except Sergio, of course, whose heated gaze she felt on her whenever no-one else was looking, who could barely wait until they were alone before touching her. They made love three, four times a day; insatiable now that their restraint had been broken. Every moment that they could find in-between the preparations, they reached for each other. Even when they went back to the hotel for lunch, they passed straight by the dining area and rushed to their room, where they ended up coupling against the barely-closed door, her legs wrapped around his waist and his trousers pooled around his ankles. She had never known anything like it, this incredible physical need for someone else, this pure and irresistible chemistry between two bodies. But of course, that was too shallow a view, for deep down she knew that the physical pleasure was a result of the much deeper emotional connection between them. She skirted away from thinking about that too much, though, because doing so would force her to acknowledge just how deeply she had fallen for Sergio. And that she couldn’t do, because if she did, how would she ever go through with the planned double-cross?

She also noticed that, just like her, Sergio was able to hide his feelings in front of the others. Actually, he was even better at it than her. It was as though he were two different people; there was Sergio, so sweet, so gentle, so devoted to her, and then there was the Professor, a man who believed that reason could control emotion, and who operated as though he meant to prove that point to everyone around him. She wasn’t unduly worried by his ability to close himself off so efficiently, instead feeling honoured that he lowered his guard so completely when they were alone. Later, of course, once everything went to hell, she would realise how foolish that had been. But for now, still immersed in the hazy warmth of their regular intercourse, she did not recognise the inherent danger. The preparations for the heist were progressing according to plan, and as a result they were both buoyed and upbeat when they returned to the hotel that night. They celebrated with a bottle of red wine with their dinner and afterwards, with any residual inhibitions dulled by the alcohol, she felt brave enough to try something new, something that her ex-husband had refused to do. She induced him to go down on her, patiently guiding him as to how she liked it, and he was eager to please. He got the hang of it after some initial fumbling around and once he did, he applied himself to the task with relish, spurred on by how much she enjoyed it. He watched in awe as she cupped her breast with one hand, working the nipple to increase her pleasure, whilst the other hand buried itself in his hair to guide his mouth to her clitoris. When he sucked the bundle of nerves between his lips and bit down gently, she moaned in ecstasy and tugged on his hair, pleading for more, so he buried first one, then two fingers inside her. Her hand flew to his wrist and helped to get the angle just right, and he set to work determinedly, cherishing every sound he coaxed from her.

And to his surprise he, too, enjoyed the experience immensely. The taste of her essence on his tongue excited him beyond measure, and by the time she shattered under his mouth and fingers he was achingly hard. He stayed with his head buried between her legs, lapping up her juices with a raspy tongue that prolonged her orgasm, then stroked her stomach as she gradually came down, rather pleased with himself. As he waited for her to return to earth, he marvelled at how comfortable he was with her, how willing to try new things. She made his shyness, his awkwardness when it came to relationships, disappear like magic, and he quite liked this version of himself, the one that he became when he was with her. He felt so alive, so happy, and at last he understood what Andrés had always been on about. This was real joy; it was living rather than just existing, and he cosseted it close to his heart. Raquel’s fingers combed through his hair, and he shifted his cheek onto her thigh to look at her. She smiled down her body at him with undisguised affection. “Thank you,” she said, “Alberto never wanted to do that,” and he pressed a kiss to her skin in response.  
“He’s a fool,” he declared, and she laughed softly, continuing to run her fingers through his hair. She loved his thick, soft mane. His length prodded insistently against her calf, reminding her that he had not yet had his own satisfaction and release, and she was impressed that he had not said a word, had not insisted on his own gratification as soon as he had finished pleasuring her. How selfless he was turning out to be in bed, and she was overcome with the need to give him the same pleasure he had given her.  
She nudged him, then said, “Your turn. What do you want?”  
When his gaze flew to hers, she grinned cheekily. “I wouldn’t mind returning the favour.”  
Images of her lips around his cock sprang to mind, of her long hair tickling his thighs, and he twitched involuntarily. But he was still too caught up in the realisation of what she had come to mean to him to succumb, so he shook his head. “I want-“ _to spend the rest of my life with you_ , he thought, but stopped himself from saying in the nick of time. “Some other day – tonight I want to watch you as we make love, and I want to come inside you,” he settled for eventually.

Her gaze softened and she tugged gently on his hair. “Come up here,” she invited, her voice low and sultry, and he slid up her body until they were face-to-face. “You are the most wonderful man I have ever known,” she blurted, before she kissed him hard, holding his head in both hands. She shifted her hips until his length was wedged between her legs, against her core, and he gasped into her mouth. That was her cue and she flipped them over with surprising strength, trapping him between their bodies as she lay down on his chest and licked up the vein in the side of his neck. He gathered her hair in the nape of her neck and ran his fingers down her spine, and enjoyed the sensation of her hardened nipples rubbing against his skin. Everywhere she touched him he lit on fire, and when she sat up with a flip of her hair and took him inside her, his back arched with the pleasure of it. She swirled her hips and his vision blackened momentarily, and he ran his hands over her hips and up to her breasts to cup them. She leant into his touch, letting their weight settle into his palms and he sighed in bliss, staring at the sight.  
“Is this what you want?” she asked, and he nodded eagerly.  
“Yes.” Then his gaze lifted to hers as he added, “This is everything that I want.”  
She blinked, unnerved by the unbridled adoration in his gaze. It was too much, so she planted her hands on his chest and began to move, trying to distract him, and it worked. His eyes turned glassy as he gave himself over to the pleasure of it, and she used every trick she knew to make it as good as possible for him, until he blew apart under her ministrations. As his orgasm swept through him, she held his head in her hands and watched, mesmerised by the sheer joy that swept over his features, before she thrust against his still-hard length a few more times to take her to her own release.

-0-

_24 November  
_ _Late afternoon  
_ All good things come to an end. Wasn’t that the saying? Raquel wretchedly pondered this wisdom as the Professor began to deploy his pawns one by one, aware that this was the beginning of the end. She could no longer pretend that things would somehow work out – that she was not about to ruin everything by double-crossing the man she loved for the greater good. Denver was the first to leave, taking the long road back to Madrid to collect Mónica, and she watched him go with trepidation. Had Mónica picked up the gun? Would she be able to get away from Denver before he found out about Lisbon’s treachery? God, she hoped so. She would never forgive herself if something happened to her friend. Next to leave were Moscow, Helsinki and Oslo, laden with their explosives. They would make their way to the bridge on foot and under cover of darkness, but they seemed cheerful enough despite the prospect of traipsing through the cold night. And then it was the turn of Berlin, Marseille and the soldiers. Berlin was unrecognisable under a false beard, wig, and some skilful make-up from Nairobi, and as they piled into the trucks and prepared to move to their designated holding spot, Marseille gave Raquel one last meaningful look. Once the trucks had rumbled off into the darkness, all that were left were Rio, Tokyo, Nairobi, herself and the Professor.

As the hour of truth drew ever nearer, Raquel became increasingly agitated. What was she going to do? How could she possibly go through with it? Each time she pictured herself drawing a gun on the Professor, Sergio’s face would pop into her head, his eyes flooded with love. With every minute that passed she changed her mind to and fro: _remember what is happening to the Jews, what Hitler is doing – you have to continue with your plan, there is no choice_ ; and then next she would think, _no, I can’t. I love him, I want to be with him, I can’t deceive him any longer_. It was pure agony, but luckily Sergio was too busy running around, being the Professor, to notice her distracted air. And then it happened, the thing that would finally decide her. They intercepted a message from the Third Army Battalion base that informed them that a few of its soldiers were on their way to the hotel for drinks, Captain Suarez among them. A strange gleam came into the Professor’s eye and he called Tokyo over.  
“You need to go to the hotel immediately, and pick up the Captain.” He was too caught up in this unexpected boon to notice the swift glance that passed between Tokyo and Rio, but Raquel did.  
Tokyo shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean, ‘pick him up’?”  
He turned to her impatiently. “You know, do what you did previously: seduce him, keep him busy for the night. Make sure he is incommunicado until it’s over.”  
Rio paled and began to shake his head, but kept his mouth shut under a warning look from his girlfriend. “I don’t-“ she began, but the Professor was no longer listening.  
He clapped his hands and shooed her towards the door. “Chop-chop, Tokyo. Time is of the essence,” he stressed, staring at her expectantly until she turned and reluctantly walked out. It was only when he swung back towards the radios that he noticed Raquel staring at him in disbelief, before she turned on her heel and followed Tokyo out the door.

She stood outside, drawing the cold air into her lungs, trying to quell her anger. The door opened behind her and the Professor moved up next to her. She didn’t give him a chance to say anything. “You just asked Tokyo to prostitute herself for your plan,” she accused, “and you didn’t even notice that she doesn’t want to.”  
He stared at her, perplexed. “She’s done it before,” he said, as though that was the only explanation needed, and Raquel laughed bitterly.  
“So? That was then, Sergio. Things are different now. She’s with Rio now.”  
“What?”  
“Tokyo and Rio are in love,” she spelt out, and his mouth fell open in astonishment. But then his face hardened.  
“It is essential to the plan to keep the Captain out of the way, so she’ll just have to suck it up,” he declared bullishly, and Raquel lost it. In the end he was no different from other men – women were just a tool to be used to his own ends, with no concern for their feelings, their needs.  
She glared at him. “Suck it up?! Jesus. What’s the matter with you? You didn’t even notice her reluctance. You’re like a robot, do you know that?” She was on a roll and couldn’t stop. “What about her feelings? What about Rio’s?” She stabbed a finger at his chest. “I thought you were different, but apparently I was wrong. You’re just as big of a bastard as all the other men I know.”

Tears began to threaten and she stalked away, unwilling to let him see it. She didn’t look back, didn’t see the remorse in his eyes, her mind made up: she would do what she had planned to from the beginning. She would double-cross the thieves.

_tbc_


	14. Double-cross

_I was tired of having been stabbed in the back by an unscrupulous bastard, of the months I’d been living in fear, feeling constantly under threat.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_25 November, before dawn  
_ _Madrid  
_ _Mónica and Denver  
_ It was pitch-dark when Mónica stepped into the street. She hesitated, looking around apprehensively, before squaring her shoulders and striking out towards the Mint. Arturo had insisted that she be present during the loading of the gold into the trucks – “I don’t trust anyone but you to keep accurate count, sweetheart,” he’d wheedled, and she’d had no grounds to refuse. To refuse would be to arouse suspicion, and that she could not have. God, she was nervous. No, strike that – she was scared. Petrified, actually. Today was the day when she would throw away everything she had ever known, gamble it on this laudable but crazy attempt of Raquel’s to influence the course of history, and on the plan of some thief she only knew as the Professor. After Raquel and Denver had left the other night, she had gone to visit the old man that lived upstairs from her. He was a retired History university lecturer, and if anyone knew what was going on in the rest of Europe, it would be him. He had invited her in despite the late hour, and over terrible coffee had patiently answered all her questions. He had confirmed everything Raquel had said, about the war balancing on a knife-edge, about Hitler’s loathsome policies, about the systematic arrests and killing of the Jews. She had left there with renewed conviction – Raquel was right; they had to do what they could to stop it.

As she hurried along the pavement, peering anxiously into every dark alley she crossed, she wondered where the other thief was, the younger one that was supposed to spirit her out of the country. Denver. What if he didn’t turn up? What the hell was she supposed to do then – make a run for the border herself? Fuck, she didn’t even know which way Portugal was… She rounded the corner of the Mint with some relief, to find the place lit up like a Christmas tree. There was the rumble of heavy trucks in the distance and she knew that the soldiers were on their way. Just then there was the flare of a flame across the square, in a dark corner, as someone lit a cigarette, and in the brief glow she saw Denver’s features before everything went dark again. He was here, the plan was going ahead, and there was no turning around now. Her bag hung heavy against her thigh, reminding her of the gun in there. The man who gave it to her had shown her how to cock it, how to aim and shoot. _To help you get away from Denver,_ Raquel had said, and Mónica’s heart thumped against her ribs. She really hoped that she wouldn’t have to pull the trigger – that pointing it at him would be enough. She stepped through the heavy doors and found her lover pacing around the lobby anxiously. As soon as he saw her, he pointed at his watch and said grumpily, “You’re late.”  
“There is no transport at this time of the morning, I had to walk-“  
“The trucks are also late,” he overrode her, “everybody’s fucking late.”  
She looked at him silently. What a whiny ass he was – how had she never realised it before? “The trucks are coming, I heard them,” she said instead, and followed him down to the loading bay to await the arrival.

-0-

_Two hours later  
_ The gold was on its way to Valencia, into the trap set for it by the Professor. It had been transported to the station and loaded onto the train without incident. Mónica had watched the many soldiers milling about as the trucks were loaded at the Mint, overcome with trepidation. How the hell did the thief plan to get the gold away from them without a shoot-out? For the first time she began to consider whether someone might actually die during this caper, and the thought horrified her. But it was too late – she was in it up to her neck, and now it was time to disappear. She walked to Arturo’s office on shaky legs, her lie ready on her tongue. He barely looked up as she entered, and she used his pre-occupation to her advantage. “I have a tooth-ache, I’m going to the dentist. I should be back in an hour or so.”  
He signed something with a flourish. “Fine. Don’t stay away too long,” he said brusquely, and she looked at him one last time, her lover of the last two years. The man who had made her pregnant and who then wanted nothing to do with the baby, who had turned out to be a first-class son of a bitch.  
“I won’t,” she said, then turned on her heel and walked out without another word.

When she stepped outside, she stopped on the steps for a moment and looked around, soaking it in. This was probably the last time she would ever see this place, this city, this country. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then made her way down the stairs and across the square to where she had seen Denver that morning. He was still there, lounging against the wall, a small pile of cigarette butts accumulated around his feet. His hat was pulled low over his eyes but when he saw her approach, he straightened up and pushed it back. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, threatening to make her lose her breakfast, but then the thief smiled brightly at her and they settled down again. He was a nice man, from what she could see, friendly and open.  
“Ready to go?” he asked, and she nodded.  
“Can we swing by my apartment – I have to collect my suitcase?”  
He agreed readily and ushered her to the car that was parked around the corner, and soon they were on their way.

She was quiet for the first stretch of the trip and he left her to her thoughts, concentrating on getting them safely out of Madrid and onto the open road. Once there was only farmland rolling by her window, he finally spoke. “So, a hundred gold bars, eh?” he grinned, followed by that strange braying laugh of his. “What are you going to do with your share?”  
She glanced at him, caught unawares by the question. “…I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”  
“What? Come on – surely you must have some idea-“  
“I just want to get away from that place, from my miserable life,” she erupted, the tears lying shallow in her chest, and he looked at her, concerned.  
“What’s wrong with it? Your life, I mean.” He seemed genuinely interested and before she knew what she was doing, she told him the whole sorry tale; her relationship with her married boss, the pregnancy, his insistence that she get an abortion, and Denver thumped the steering wheel in anger.  
“That fucker,” he spat and she turned to him, surprised and touched by his vehemence. “I would never do something like that,” he continued, “I mean, who wouldn’t want a little bambino running around the house?”  
She stared at him, re-evaluating every judgement she had made about him, about being a thief. Raquel’s words came back to her – _people steal for different reasons_ – and she finally began to understand. She reached out and squeezed Denver’s arm. “Thank you,” she smiled, and relaxed for the first time since this horrid mess had started.

They talked for hours, getting to know each other as the road flowed underneath the tyres, and she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. He wasn’t the brightest, but he was funny and kind and she liked his company. She almost forgot about the plan, about Raquel’s intention to double-cross the thieves, until Denver glanced at his watch and pulled to the side of the road.  
“What’s going on?”  
He looked back at her as he opened his door. “There should be news of the heist by now,” he explained, and a wave of anxiety washed over her.  
“Do you have a way to find out?” she asked, suddenly finding herself wishing that he didn’t, because then he wouldn’t learn of the double-cross and she wouldn’t have to point a gun at him, but of course she didn’t have such good luck.  
“Yeah, I have a short-wave radio in the trunk,” he divulged, “we can set it up here and speak to the Professor – get the latest.”  
He was gone, moving to the back of the car, and she sat immobile for a few seconds, uncertain what to do. Then she reached into the bag at her feet, and her hand found the butt of the gun, and she pulled it out and stuffed it under her thigh, within easy reach, before she sat back and waited for him to return.

-0-

_Minglanilla  
_ _Lisbon and the Professor_ After their fight Raquel stalked inside, biting back tears, and took up station at the radio that monitored the communication of the First Army Battalion back in Madrid. She plonked earphones on her head and listened in on the chatter as they prepared for the movement of the gold throughout the early morning hours, using it to block out everything and everyone in her immediate surroundings. But she could not block out her own thoughts, and they kept spiralling around one main theme: Just like with Alberto, she had once again made a terrible error in judgement when it came to falling in love. She had once again fallen for a bastard, blinded to his faults by her feelings, her desires. How could she not have seen it? How could she not have realised how ruthless he was – how willing to use the people around him to his own ends? And the women in particular, it seemed, which cut especially deep. She had thought that he saw her worth, that his attitude to women was different to most of the Spanish men she knew, but she had been wrong. He was just the same, just as misogynistic as the rest of them. She sat huddled in her misery, torturing herself by replaying his harsh instructions to Tokyo, his set face as he refused to budge when she had challenged him, on an unending loop in her mind. Pamuk must have sensed her distress, for he moved over and sat down next to her chair, alert, ears pricked.

She didn’t know how long she was lost in her own personal hell, but eventually she overheard Tokyo report in that she had possession of the ‘package’, and distress was replaced by anger. She snapped back into the present. She would show them, all these men, what she was capable of – what women were capable of. She would show them all - Franco, Hitler, Alberto and the Professor - that she was more than a match for them, that she had the intelligence and ingenuity to thwart their plans. And the latter two in particular would learn soon enough just how much they had underestimated her. When she looked around the warehouse, she realised that only herself and the Professor remained. Where had Rio and Nairobi disappeared to? Never-mind, it didn’t matter; it played into her hands, for it meant that she would only have the Professor to deal with when the time came. He saw her look at him, and took a step towards her.  
“Raquel-“ he began, but she cut him off ruthlessly.  
“Lisbon,” she corrected, staring him down. “Let’s keep it professional until the heist is completed.”  
For a moment it looked like he would object, but in the end he succumbed to her wishes, turning away unhappily with a short, stiff nod.

For the next few hours they worked in near-silence, only communicating when they had to convey essential information. Tension crackled in the air, ramping up exponentially as the time for action drew closer. There were spotters at the train station in Madrid and all along the route, and through them they kept track of the progress of the train. The Professor marked it off on the map, making a red cross at each spotter’s position as soon as he reported the passing of the train. At some stage Denver reported in that he had collected Mónica and that they were on their way to the border, and Raquel momentarily closed her eyes in relief. She desperately wanted her friend to be safe, and to eventually meet up with her in Lisbon. The red crosses on the map crept ever closer to Minglanilla, and she listened tensely as the Professor confirmed that Berlin and the soldiers were in place, before alerting Moscow to be on stand-by at the bridge. She wished that there was some way to communicate with Marseille, to check that he was ready for his part in her plan, but it was impossible without the Professor overhearing. She simply had to trust that her fellow-spy would keep to what they had agreed: that as soon as they had the gold and had put some distance between themselves and the stranded train, Marseille and his soldier friends would engineer a flat tyre for one of the trucks, forcing them to stop. They would transfer some of the gold in that truck to the others, leaving just enough to be distributed among everyone that had helped with the plan, and leave Berlin with the stranded truck. At that stage Raquel would go into action, tying the Professor up and hot-footing it to a pre-destined rendezvous with the trucks and the gold. They would take back-roads towards Andorra, where the gold would be transferred to horses and taken via an old smugglers route across the mountains and into France.  
“It’s time,” the Professor declared as he drew the last red cross on the map, just before Minglanilla, and Raquel surreptitiously reached into her bag and transferred the gun to her coat pocket.

The Professor glanced at her, then picked up the microphone of the relevant radio. “Moscow, over.”  
There was some static crackle, then Moscow’s voice came through, “This is Moscow, over.”  
The Professor took a breath, pushed his glasses up his nose, and said, “Guy Fawkes. I repeat, Guy Fawkes.”  
“Received, over,” Moscow replied, and the Professor put down the microphone slowly and looked up at Raquel.  
“No turning around now,” he said, before jumping to his feet so that he could pace the length of the table and back. All they could do was wait, and it was torture. After what felt like an eternity, the radio crackled once more, and Moscow reported the successful disabling of the bridge. Raquel, swept up in the moment, laughed and grabbed her head; it was hard to believe that it was finally happening. Serg- no, the Professor laughed with her before he snatched up another microphone and alerted Berlin. They barely had to wait a few minutes, before radio traffic began to spike as the soldiers guarding the gold contacted their Headquarters for help. As soon as the Professor heard this, he flipped a switch on a contraption Rio had built, ensuring that any radio messages from the First Army Battalion to the base of the Third, just a few kilometres from where they were sitting, would be diverted to the warehouse instead. Raquel stepped over and placed the communications manual Tokyo had obtained before the Professor, open at the page that provided the codes he had to give to confirm that he was now the Third Army base. She had scarcely done so when the call came through, and the Professor acknowledged. There was a tense silence for a moment, and she began to panic that they had changed the codes in the meantime, but then the voice on the other end spoke again, requesting assistance for the stranded train.  
“We happen to have a Company on manoeuvres close by, under the command of Captain Suarez,” the Professor informed them, “they will divert to the location immediately.” He signed off, then tersely informed Berlin to ‘go’, before he sat back and breathed deeply. He didn’t say anything, but Raquel knew what he was thinking: so far, so good.

As they waited once more, Raquel could picture every step Berlin and his fake soldiers were now taking. The trucks racing towards the train, the fake soldiers jumping out and deploying to establish a guard perimeter, whilst ‘Captain Suarez’ strode up to the commanding officer of the First Army Battalion platoon, and convinced him that the best course of action was to load the gold onto the trucks and take it the rest of the way by road. The First Army soldiers would help load the gold, and wait in vain by the train for the fourth truck that Captain Suarez had said was on its way to pick them up. If they insisted on sending some men along with the gold, these men would be overwhelmed and dumped by the side of the road as soon as they were out of sight. And finally, after a nerve-wracking half-hour, they received confirmation from Berlin that they had the gold and were on their way. This time Raquel did not celebrate. She knew that the hour had come at last, that she could no longer postpone. She looked on as the Professor jumped to his feet, punching the air in victory, and in doing so looked much less like the Professor, the automaton that operated without feelings, and much more like Sergio, the man she so desperately loved, and she had to swallow against a lump in her throat. Every cell in her body screamed at her not to do it, but there was no choice: she had to do it – for Spain, for Europe, for what was right. Her fingers closed around the butt of the gun and she pulled it out, and swung her arms up to level it at the man in front of her with the last shreds of her willpower.

And when Sergio turned to her, grinning from ear-to-ear, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, and beyond it into the tortured eyes of the woman he would sacrifice everything for. He froze, stunned, the smile slipping from his face in an instant. They stared at each other, a million thoughts and feelings running through them both. He watched a tear escape from the corner of her eye and meander down her cheek, before she spoke at last.  
“I’m so sorry.”

_tbc_


	15. Revelations

_Once, years ago, I opened my heart to a man who didn’t show me his true face, and it took infinite efforts on my part to close up the wounds he made in my soul. I don’t want the same thing to happen with you. I don’t want any more lies, any more shadows.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_25 November  
_ _Raquel and Sergio  
_ “I’m so sorry,” she said, and he half-shook his head in confusion, unable to process this development.  
“What is this?”  
She took a shaky breath, but the gun remained trained on him unerringly. “I have no choice,” she stated miserably, and he shook his head once more. Was she about to sell him out to the Police – to her abusive husband? Was that it, had it all been a ploy to ensnare him?  
The part of him that was so in love with her refused to accept it. “I don’t understand – what are you doing, Raquel?”  
“I need the gold,” she told him, and his world tilted. He couldn’t believe it. This was nothing to do with the police – it was pure greed instead. No. Surely not. She wasn’t some gold-digger, so what the hell was happening? “I’ll let each of you keep enough to start a new life-“ she continued, but he was no longer listening. Red-hot anger speared through him.  
“What the fuck is this, Raquel?” he demanded, his voice harsher than she had ever heard it. It cut through her, hurting more than she thought possible. And the hurt multiplied when he added, “I didn’t think you had it in you to stoop so low, to sleep with a man for pure greed.”

She inhaled sharply and tears sprang to her eyes, and despite his anger he felt terrible. He couldn’t take the hurt in her gaze, so he looked away.  
“No,” she said, barely audible, then louder, “No.”  
There was such anguish in her voice that he looked back at her, and the unfathomable sadness in her eyes got to him. He ignored the gun and took a step towards her, intent on breaking through whatever was happening. “Raquel-“  
A low, menacing growl stopped him dead in his tracks. _Shit._ The dog. He’d forgot about the dog, and now it crouched low, ears flat, ready to pounce. He froze, watching it fearfully, not relishing the prospect of those formidable teeth sinking into him. To his relief Raquel said, “Pamuk,” and the dog fell quiet, although its gaze remained on him unblinkingly. But it had broken the spell, the chance he felt that he had to reach her, and she nodded over to where a chain was hanging from one of the roof beams. “Walk over there.” He hesitated, but the dog growled once more and took a step towards him, so he hastily obeyed. “I’m going to tie you up,” Raquel informed him. “Don’t try anything – the dog will tear you to pieces if you do.” Pamuk growled once more and bared his teeth to back up her claim. There was no arguing with those fangs, so Sergio submitted without a struggle, letting her tie his arms to the chain above his head. Then she stepped away, out of reach, and they regarded each other wordlessly for long seconds.

Raquel could see hurt, anger and confusion vie for supremacy in his face, and she turned away and plonked the gun down on the nearest table, then sunk wearily into a chair. She almost apologised again, but what was the point? It wouldn’t change anything. Instead she asked, “Where’s Rio and Nairobi?” She needed to know whether they might return suddenly and find her holding the Professor at gunpoint.  
Sergio surreptitiously tested the strength of the bonds, but they were secure – she had done a good job of it. “I sent them to help Tokyo.” He was more focussed on the ropes and chain than on her, so he missed the flash of surprise that crossed her features.  
“What do you mean?”  
It was the anxiety in her voice that finally registered, and he turned his full attention to her. “You were right – I shouldn’t have asked her to prostitute herself. I’m sorry for that. I know it’s not an excuse, but I don’t have much experience with people. When I’m in the middle of one of my heists, I tend to block out everything, including everyone else’s feelings.” He smiled crookedly. “When you have lived alone your whole life, you sometimes forget how to take other people into account, I guess.”  
Oh, fuck. The thought that he’d been alone his whole life broke her heart. And not only that, but he never went through with the thing that had made her so angry, that had convinced her to continue with the double-cross. She looked around the empty warehouse, trying to take it all in, to make sense of it. “…So Tokyo didn’t have to sleep with Suarez?” she checked, her heart hammering in her ears, and he shook his head.  
“No. She only had to get him to the room, where the other two were waiting with guns, and then hold him there until the heist is over.”  
She stared at him, relief mingling with guilt, and he watched as she covered her face with her hands and doubled over. He heard her mumble, “Oh, God…” and frowned, perplexed.  
She sat up, laughing hopelessly, and said, “See, that callousness towards Tokyo was what made me go through with this. And now…” She waved a hand helplessly, and he tilted his head, a tiny spark of hope igniting in his heart.  
“It’s not too late,” he said tentatively, “to put an end to whatever this is – no-one needs to know,” he offered, and her gaze snapped to his. He could sense her waver, before she looked at her watch.  
“It’s probably done by now,” she decided morosely, “Marseille and the soldiers will already have taken the gold from Berlin.”  
Cold fingers danced down his spine. _Andrés_. “What do you mean – take the gold from Berlin?” A horrid thought came to him and he paled. “Oh my God. Is Marseille going to kill my brother? Because you were angry at something I didn’t do in the end – for _nothing_?!”

His accusation was met with shocked silence, and she looked stricken. “No! No-one is getting killed. And it is not for nothing. Quite the opposite.”  
He processed this, taken aback by her vehemence, recalling her earlier words: _I need the gold, but I’ll let each of you keep enough to start new lives._ None of it made sense – if this was about taking everything for herself, why let them keep any of it at all? But if not for herself, what did she need the gold for? “Then tell me what it’s for – why you’re doing this,” he implored, and she closed her eyes. He thought that she would not answer, but in the end she did.  
“For Spain. For Europe. For what’s right,” she said, sounding totally drained, and he frowned.  
“What does that mean?”  
She hesitated, fearing that finding out that she had embroiled everyone in an act of treason would be the last straw, the thing he could not forgive, but looking at him standing there, hands bound above his head, looking lost and confused, she decided he deserved the truth. She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “The gold was destined for Germany,” she told him. “A present from General Franco to Adolf Hitler, to help finance the war. It is a precursor to Spain entering the war on Germany’s side, and that can’t happen.”

_Fuck._ Sergio grasped the implications immediately, and his first reaction was horror. “What have you got us – me – into?” he ground out, and she blanched. But she stood her ground.  
“The war is at a tipping point, Sergio. If Spain joins forces with the Axis Powers, it will mean victory for Germany. And that terrible man” – she pointed in the vague direction of where she thought Germany was situated – “will rule over Europe, with his vindictive, racist, indefensible policies.” She was breathing hard and took a moment to compose herself. “We have a duty to oppose that with all means at our disposal.” She turned away, then back at him. “I had an opportunity to scupper Franco’s plans, and I took it. But I couldn’t do it on my own.”  
She looked at him entreatingly, hoping that he would understand, that he would see that she had had no choice, but he was not ready to do that just yet. “So you lied to me, you climbed into my bed, and now you are pointing a gun at me.” His voice was flat, accusing, and she shrunk back into herself before it.  
“I couldn’t tell you, not at the start. How was I supposed to know whether I could trust you back then? You could have turned me in to the authorities if you didn’t agree with what I planned to do.”  
He stared at her. “But you know me now,” he pointed out brutally, “and yet here we are.”  
Oh, God, he would never forgive her, and she couldn’t blame him. “I thought – well, I thought it would be safer for you this way; you could at least claim you had no idea what I was doing if we got caught.”  
“So you were trying to protect me? How noble,” he retorted, sarcasm dripping from every word, and she felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest. She deserved it, but she had hoped- No. Best to let that lie now.  
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice sounded small to her own ears, the words trite, but it was all she had to offer, and perhaps he sensed that, because his face softened almost imperceptibly.  
“So what are you going to do with the gold?”  
“Marseille and I will take it across the border into southern France – give it to the French Resistance to fund their war effort against the Germans.”

There was a long, heavy silence as he processed what she had said. Despite everything, despite the lies, he felt admiration for her. Most people he knew would have stuck their heads in the sand, refused to get involved, but not her. She had learnt about the gold and had recognised an opportunity, and she had had the strength of conviction to act upon it. This woman, abused by her husband and belittled by society simply for being female, was taking action where many men were too cowardly to. She was magnificent, and in the face of all that the personal betrayal suddenly seemed less important. He could understand her reasoning, and his anger began to dissipate. “And what happened between us?” he asked, needing to know. “Was that real or an attempt to deflect my attention?”  
She laughed helplessly, and the tears welled up once more. “Ah fuck, Sergio… I tried to resist, to stay away from you, knowing that I would have to double-cross you. But I couldn’t.” She wiped at a tear that escaped. “I wish things could have been different, because I’ve never felt the way I do when I’m with you. It was selfish, but I wanted to be happy, even if it was for only two days.” She looked so miserable that he felt tears gather in his eyes as well. “I am truly sorry,” she added, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He was assaulted by images of them together, making love, laughing at the sheer joy of it, and remembered the vow he had made: that no matter what her secret was, that he would do everything in his power to have a future with her.

He shook his head, dislodging a tear that rolled into his beard unheeded. “I understand,” he said, and her head snapped up in disbelief.  
Surely she had misheard. “…I’m sorry?” Apparently these were the only words she could form now, she thought, irritated with herself, but he didn’t seem to care.  
He gazed at her earnestly. “I think what you’re doing is admirable, and I want to help.” She just stared at him, unable to compute the words, apparently, so he reiterated, “Let me help. I want to stop the Germans as much as you do.” And when she still could not find any words, he implored, “Raquel. I’m _with_ you,” and that finally seemed to get through to her.  
Could it be? Could they really get over this, and work together from now on? She wanted nothing more, and so she didn’t even try to smother the spark of hope that ignited in her heart. “Help how?”  
“I can talk to the others, persuade them to give up a share of their gold voluntarily.”  
She stared at him, astounded. “Why would you do that, after everything I’ve- After I lied to you?”  
He shrugged, smiling fatalistically. “Because you did it for a good reason. And because,” he hesitated, then added in a rush, “because I have fallen in love with you.”  
Her face crumpled, and for a second he feared that he had said the wrong thing, but then she stepped over to him and kissed him. Hungrily, unreservedly, her hands in his hair, and he reciprocated as best he could, his heart soaring with joy. _Yes_. They had been tested, but they had come through. Somewhat battered and bruised, admittedly, but they had made it. Then, just as he began to believe that it was over, she wrenched her mouth from his and stepped back, and he could see that the worry had not left her completely. “If we are going to do this,” she said, “if we are going to move forward together, you need to know everything. I don’t want any more secrets between us,” and his joy came to a screeching halt. Oh shit, there was more?

She moved away, pressing her hand over her mouth, and he watched her apprehensively, until she swung round to face him once more. “Marseille and I work for British Intelligence.”  
Holy fuck. She was a spy? It was quite a bombshell, and he groped around for something to say. But he came up empty so he simply stood there, gawking at her.  
“When I took my mother and daughter to Lisbon, I offered my services to them. I knew that, through my husband and his military cronies, I would get an opportunity to find out what the Spanish government was planning, and I felt it was my duty to contribute in any way I could to stop Hitler.” She smiled bitterly. “That’s why I went back to Alberto, to the abuse. To use him, like he has used me for our entire marriage to boost his social standing, to keep his house.”  
She said it with her head held high, challenging him to condemn her for it, but how could he? It was brave and selfless, to subject herself to physical abuse for this cause, and he nodded once, solemnly. “Good for you. He deserves everything he’s going to get, once they realise what happened – that you knew about the gold because of his and his friends’ indiscretions.”  
It was said with relish, and she was touched by his obvious distaste for her abusive husband. She grasped then, for perhaps the first time, that this man would never intentionally hurt her, and would certainly never lift his hand against her. Yes, he might inadvertently say or do the wrong thing because of his inexperience with relationships, but he would never, ever, set out to do so deliberately. A weight lifted from her shoulders, and against her better judgement, she began to dream of a future together.  
“Anything else?”  
His voice brought her back to the situation at hand, and she focussed on him again. “Pardon?”  
“Any other secrets I should know about?” he asked, and he was smiling. At her. He was smiling at her. She was forgiven, she was accepted for who she was, and it was everything she had wished for so desperately.  
She stepped closer, until she stood right in front of him, barely a centimetre between them, and then she said, “Just one.” He barely had time to panic before she continued, “I’ve fallen in love with a thief, you see-“ and he surged forward and kissed her, swallowing whatever else she was going to say.

-0-

_Berlin and Marseille  
_ Unaware of these developments at the warehouse, Marseille continued with the plan as intended. He drove the lead truck away from the train, with Berlin in the passenger seat. The thief was exuberant, laughing and joking after their success, and seemingly didn’t notice that the other man did not join in. Marseille constantly swept their surroundings, checking the rear-view mirror every couple of seconds. If called on it he would say that he was making sure they weren’t being pursued, for they had perhaps an hour before the authorities realised it wasn’t the real Captain Suarez that had taken the gold, but he was really checking when the last truck in the line would pull off the road. He had his most trusted man in that truck, and once they were a safe distance away, he would pull off and stab a piece of steel into one of the tyres. Marseille’s hands flexed on the steering wheel, wondering how the man next to him would react. He hoped to God that Berlin wouldn’t try to be a hero, to take them all on, because he really didn’t want to shoot him. But if it came down to it, if he was forced to do so, he knew that he would act without hesitation. For Marseille was a hardened soldier, a man who had experienced war first-hand, and his instinct for self-preservation was finely honed. And in this particular case, it was not only about himself, but also about Raquel and their quest to thwart the Spanish government. He was fond of Raquel, and he admired her, and he did not want to let her down. No, if Berlin tried to stop them, he would shoot him without hesitation.

When his gaze flicked to the mirror one more time, he saw the last truck rolling to a stop and he stepped on the brake. Berlin looked over. “What are you doing?”  
“Last truck stopped – something must be wrong,” he said, and Berlin dipped his head to look in the side-mirror.  
“Back up,” he instructed, and Marseille ground the truck into reverse and backed up to where the other one stood. They had barely rolled to a stop when Berlin hopped out, gun in hand, and waved the other men out of the back. “Form a perimeter,” he instructed, and they spread out and took up position as instructed. Marseille jumped down from the cab, his carbine in hand now, and every sinew and sense tense and sharpened. He made sure to position himself behind Berlin as they walked over to where a couple of men were crouched by the rear-left tyre. “What’s the problem?” Berlin enquired, and one of the soldiers squinted up at him.  
“Flat tyre.” He pointed to where a sharp piece of steel protruded from the rubber. “Picked up a piece of shrapnel, unfortunately.”  
Berlin frowned in annoyance. “How quickly can you change it?”  
“Take about twenty minutes,” the man responded, and then Berlin felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against the back of his neck.  
“Don’t move,” Marseille’s voice said behind him, and Berlin instantly understood what was happening. He had had his suspicions about the woman and her protector from the start, and now he knew that he had been right. He had warned Sergio, but his brother had not heeded his warning, too infatuated with the woman to see the danger. Well, he would not go down without a fight – he was dying anyway, so what did he have to lose? He laughed, a soft, mocking sound, distracting those around him from the fact that his hands were tightening around the gun, and then he said, “I knew it. I knew you and that policeman’s wife were not to be trusted.”

_tbc_


	16. Resistance

_“We have to get involved, Sira. We have to help. You, me, all of us, each in whatever way we can. We have to contribute our grain of sand to make sure this madness doesn’t go any further.”  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_25 November  
_ _Raquel and Sergio  
_ Sergio kissed her ardently, pouring all his love for her into it. He strained against the ropes, trying to get as close to her as possible, and she met him with equal fervour. She pressed against him and moaned softly into his mouth when he stroked her tongue with his. It was liberating, kissing her and knowing there were no more secrets, no more dark clouds on the horizon, but still it was not enough. He wanted to hold her, to put his arms around her, and he yanked at the restraints in frustration. “Could you just-“ he exhorted, rattling the chain, and she scrabbled for the nearest knife.  
“Yes, sorry,” she said, still breathless from the kiss, and began to saw at the rope vigorously. He watched on, curbing his impatience, until at last it began to fray and give way. As soon as the rope broke free from the chain, he slipped his still-bound hands over her head and pulled her against him, and she let the knife fall to the floor with a clatter. He found her mouth once more and vowed against her lips, “I’m not letting go again,” and she hummed in satisfaction, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
“Me neither.” She couldn’t stop kissing him, pressing her lips to his again and again, unable to believe her luck. She had been forgiven, and now she could finally allow herself to dream of a future with the man she loved.  
When they broke apart for air, she caressed his cheek, her gaze tracing over his features lovingly. “Thank you,” she murmured, and he smiled and shrugged rather self-consciously.  
“Well, you did promise that they won’t shoot my brother,” he quipped, and they laughed together until she stopped abruptly and her eyes widened.  
“Oh shit - Marseille,” she exclaimed, ducking under Sergio’s arms and making a beeline for the radios, “I have to talk to Marseille!”

-0-

_Berlin and Marseille  
_ “I knew it. I knew you and that policeman’s wife were not to be trusted.” As Berlin said the words, his finger slipped into the trigger guard and curled around the trigger. The odds that he would be able to swing around and get off a shot at Marseille before the other man shot him was slim to none, but at least he would go down swinging. And perhaps it was better this way; he was not looking forward to slowly wasting away from this disease that was ravaging his body. He would rather go out in a blaze of glory, and if he could take one or more of these double-crossing bastards with him, that would be all the better. He wondered what had become of Sergio – his brother abhorred violence, and Berlin was not sure that Sergio would be able to shoot someone he had a thing for, even in self-defence. No, it was best to assume that the bitch had already killed his brother and to act accordingly.  
The barrel dug a bit deeper into his neck and Marseille’s voice warned, “Don’t,” as though he had sensed what Berlin was about to do, and a fatalistic smile blossomed on the thief’s face.  
“Here’s the thing about people with an incurable disease, Marseille,” he said, preparing to spring into action, “they have nothing to lose.“  
But just as he lifted onto his toes to pivot, their radio operator, unaware of the drama unfolding outside, called from the cab of the truck, “The Professor and Lisbon calling for Berlin and Marseille,” and Berlin paused.  
 _Sergio was still alive._

-0-

As Raquel snatched up the microphone and called the convoy of trucks, “Lisbon calling for Marseille, over,” Sergio went over to a mounted circular saw and cut through the ropes that still bound his wrists together. Then he stepped up next to Raquel and nodded at her, and this time she said, “The Professor and Lisbon calling for Marseille and Berlin, over,” and heaved a sigh of relief when the operator on the other side acknowledged. Moments later Marseille’s voice came on the line and Raquel said hastily, “Marseille, stand down. We’re going to stick with the original arrangement of the Professor’s – bring all the gold, and Berlin, to the rendezvous point.”  
Marseille, who was still pointing his rifle at Berlin, frowned in confusion. “Can you repeat that?”  
Sergio leant over and spoke over Raquel’s shoulder. “Marseille – Lisbon and I have come to an understanding. I want to help you achieve your goal. In a few minutes I’m going to talk to everybody, to explain everything.” He met Raquel’s eyes. “Is Berlin there?”  
“Yes, I’m here,” the man in question responded, then added laconically, “currently being held at gunpoint by Lisbon’s partner-in-duplicity.”  
Raquel rolled her eyes, then exchanged a worried glance with Sergio. Berlin was unpredictable, and there was every possibility of him ruining the whole thing through a reckless act. Sergio was apparently thinking along the same lines, because he urged, “Listen to me, Berlin. Do _nothing_ until you have heard what I have to say. Do you copy?”  
Berlin turned slowly to look at Marseille over the gun still pointed at him, and the two men stared at each other for a second or two, the testosterone crackling in the air. Then Berlin shrugged, his curiosity winning out over his need to put Marseille in his place. “That’s affirmative, Professor. I copy,” he intoned, smirking at Marseille as he did so, and the big man slowly lowered his gun.  
Sergio and Raquel let out relieved breaths in unison, both aware that they had averted bloodshed by a hair’s breadth, before Sergio reached for another microphone, this time the one that connected him to the hotel and Tokyo, and called Rio back to the warehouse.

Fifteen minutes later, Rio had done some complicated things with wires and the various radios that she did not understand, then stood back and nodded at the Professor. “There you go, Professor, now you can talk to everyone at once.”  
Sergio took a breath, looked at Raquel, and took up the microphone.

-0-

_Two minutes earlier  
_ Mónica watched as Denver set the radio on the bonnet and began to fiddle with the knobs, muttering under his breath as he did so. She looked around; they were in the middle of nowhere and there was not another soul in sight. If the worst came to the worst, this was as good a place as any to brandish a gun at another person, she supposed. Fear closed her throat and she got out of the car, her legs shaking, the gun in her hand but kept out of sight behind her. She faced Denver across the roof, but he was too preoccupied with getting the radio to work to notice her tense posture.  
“Argh, fucking thing!” he exclaimed in exasperation, twiddling one knob after another. “What did Rio say again – was it the third from the left or the right…?” Monica watched him, blindsided by an unexpected wave of tenderness for this not-so-bright, fumbling thief, by an urge to take care of him. Maybe it was the hormones from the pregnancy. There was a sudden burst of static from the radio, startling them both, and Denver jumped back, staring at the contraption suspiciously. The next moment the Professor’s voice came through loud and clear: “This is the Professor, calling all positions. When I say your name, please acknowledge if you can hear me.”  
“Oh, uhh…” Denver stepped closer once more and picked up the handset gingerly. When the Professor said, “Denver,” he bellowed into it, “Yes I hear you!”, making Mónica wince.  
There was silence on the other end, before the Professor repeated again, “Denver, do you read me?”  
Denver frowned and shook the handset, muttering, “Must be fucking broken,” and Mónica couldn’t help herself.  
“I think you need to push in the button when you talk,” she told him, pointing at said button on the handset, and he looked at it and laughed his braying laugh.  
He pressed it and said, ”This is Denver, receiving you loud and clear,” and grinned at Mónica when the Professor acknowledged. There was something so innocent about him in that moment, that she knew with sudden certainty that she could never point a gun at him, and she slipped it into her pocket surreptitiously. She would rather throw herself upon his mercy, beg him to help her despite the planned double-cross, than resort to using the gun.

Once Sergio had confirmed that everyone could hear him, he gathered his thoughts and begun. “There is something you should know about the gold we have stolen,” he stated, and Raquel’s chest tightened with anxiety. Would he tell them about the attempted double-cross, and if so, would the others be as understanding as Sergio had been? Somehow she doubted that. “The gold was destined for Germany,” he divulged, “a present from our government to help the German war effort.”  
Berlin tilted his head, intrigued, and squinted at Marseille, who continued to watch him warily.  
“Now I don’t know about you,” the Professor’s voice continued, “but I don’t like the idea of Spain providing help to the Nazis. They stand for everything I despise, especially the callous disregard for human decency – rounding up people and putting them in concentration camps simply for being born Jewish, for instance.”  
Back at the hotel Nairobi and Tokyo looked at each other, nodding in agreement, as did Moscow, Helsinki and Oslo.  
“We all know what it feels like to be part of the marginalised,” Sergio said, his gaze finding Raquel once more, “to be discounted as worthless because of our race, Nairobi, or because we are a woman, Tokyo, or because we grew up poor, Moscow and Denver.” He was pulling them in one by one, making them his allies, his brothers and sisters in oppression, and Raquel listened in fascination. “All of us became thieves because we had no choice, because the system would not allow us to make an honest living for one reason or another – and none of that has changed under General Franco’s government, has it? The rich still get richer, and the poor get poorer.” He blinked, and Raquel knew that he had been transported back to that hospital in San Sebastien, to the day they came to tell him that his father had been shot dead during a bank robbery. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to offer comfort, but she didn’t want to break the spell. He cleared his throat. “And now we have an opportunity to fuck over that system that treats the disadvantaged so unfairly, to give it a bloody nose.”

Mónica was transfixed, listening to this man – a man that society classified as bad – so eloquently lay out the unfairness of the system, the institutionalised discrimination on the basis of sex or race or money, and she began to understand why Raquel had seemed so taken with him. There was more integrity in this thief than her former lover, Arturo Roman, could ever hope to have, and that, combined with his obvious intelligence, must be a powerful aphrodisiac for her friend. For this speech by the Professor confirmed for her what she had suspected after that last visit from Raquel – that something had happened between her friend and the thief. And perhaps that would save her from having to deceive Denver…

“There is something else you should know,” Sergio said. “And that is that Lisbon and Marseille sometimes help the French Resistance, to try and stop Germany from taking over the whole of Europe.” Berlin lifted an eyebrow as he stared at Marseille, listening attentively to what his brother was saying. “And they plan to give most of their share of the gold to the Resistance, to fund their war effort. They will only keep enough to start new lives somewhere else.” At this Berlin cocked his head and began to smile, knowing what was coming even before Sergio said the next words. “I think that is a noble decision, and I intend to follow their example.” There was a pause, and then he added, “And I urge all of you to do the same. I feel that we have an obligation, a duty to do what we can to stop this madness. So who’s with me?”

Berlin threw back his head and laughed, lifting his hands to the sky. “Well won’t you know it, my little brother is in love with the policeman’s wife,” he proclaimed, and Marseille frowned.  
“Why would you say that?”  
Berlin turned serious in an instant and glared at the other man. “Why else would he gloss over your treachery? Make you sound like heroes instead?”  
Marseille eyed him apprehensively, alert to any attempt to avenge having a gun pointed at him, but then Berlin relaxed and grinned once more.  
“Don’t look so worried,” he needled, “I like Resistance fighters.” With that he stepped over and took the handset from the radio operator. “Professor, this is Berlin. I’m with you – I will donate a share of my gold to the Resistance.”

Raquel’s eyes widened in surprise; she had expected Berlin to be the most difficult, especially since he was aware of her plan to take the gold by force, and yet here he was, first to offer his support. What a strange, unfathomable man Sergio’s brother was turning out to be. Sergio’s face relaxed and he smiled over at Raquel, and the smile broadened when the support of all the others came through one by one. Raquel couldn’t believe it, but every single member of the band signed on and offered a share of their gold. She could do what she had set out to do without cheating anyone out of anything, and she was so overcome with gratitude that she grabbed Sergio’s head and kissed him soundly, momentarily forgetting about Rio’s presence.  
“Thank you, thank you,” she managed between kisses, and Sergio laughed, happy and in love. They stood gazing at each other, lost in the moment, until Rio cleared his throat loudly behind them.  
“Oh, er…” Sergio stammered, blushing furiously, before taking up the microphone once more to issue instructions on the way forward. They were not out of the woods yet, and as if by design the radio monitoring the Third Army Battalion’s communications burst into life and issued an alert for a convoy of three army trucks. They had to move.

-0-

Mónica listened in awe as the thieves pledged their gold to the Resistance one by one, her eyes on Denver the whole time. She watched him think about it, but once he heard his father agree all doubt disappeared from his face. “If it works for Papa, it works for me,” he stated, and added his voice to everyone else’s. _Oh, thank God._ Her relief was boundless; she no longer needed to find a way to get away from Denver. Then he looked over at her. “What about you, are you also part of the French Resistance then?” he asked, and she realised that he hadn’t quite grasped that this act made them all traitors.  
“Uhm, no. But I pledged a share of my gold to Raq- er, Lisbon from the start,” she said vaguely, and he grinned happily.  
“Look at the two of us,” he proclaimed as he began to pack away the radio, “two Resistance fighters giving the finger to the System,” and her eyes traced after him as he walked to the back of the car once more.  
She realised that she rather liked the sound of that.

-0-

They converged at an abandoned farmhouse about fifty kilometres from Minglanilla, where everyone pitched in to transfer most of the gold to wooden crates onto two seemingly dilapidated open-bed trucks. These crates were in turn covered by other crates, filled to the brim with cabbages. The remaining gold were divided between all participants, with Moscow taking his son’s share and Raquel taking Mónica’s. Then they gathered around the Professor, looking at him expectantly, and he began to hand out folders. “This is where we separate,” he informed them. “These folders have instructions for each of you on how to get out of the country, where to go, and someone to contact to help you settle in once you reach your destination.” He looked round at their faces, his own serious. “It is very important that you stick to the arrangements in there – if you don’t, I can’t help you if anything goes wrong.” There were some nods, so he continued. “But this is the most important of all – you can never come back to Spain. Do you understand?” He looked at each person in turn, waiting for their acknowledgement, before he allowed a smile onto his face. “Well, then all that is left for me is to thank you, and to say – until next time.”

Raquel stood to the side as the gang embraced Sergio one after the other, but to her surprise Tokyo came over and embraced her as well. When she let go, she stepped back and smiled in admiration. “A part of the Resistance – who would have thought?” she marvelled, then added, “I respect that.”  
All Raquel could do was smile back, too overcome to say anything, and so they departed one by one until only she, Sergio, Marseille, Berlin and the soldiers were left.  
“Time to go,” Sergio urged, and half of the soldiers stepped over to the trucks and found places to sit. The other half would go in another direction and create a diversion, to draw the attention of the authorities away from the real route they were taking. And after that they would go back to what they were doing before the heist – strike at the Germans across the French border whenever the opportunity arose. As they moved towards the trucks, Raquel looked back, and realised that Berlin was not following. She grabbed Sergio’s arm.  
“Sergio.”  
He looked back to find his brother standing in the middle of the room, a strangely peaceful expression on his face. “Andrés?”

Berlin gazed at his brother, a look filled with love. “I’m not coming with you.”  
“…What?”  
“I’m going with these soldiers,” Andrés said, and Sergio began to shake his head.  
“No-“  
But Andrés would not let him say anything else. He stepped forward and grabbed his brother’s face in both hands. “I’m sick, Sergio. I don’t have much time left, we both know that. And I’ve been a bit of an asshole my whole life, but now I have a chance to do something useful, something noble and selfless, here at the end of it.” He shook Sergio’s head gently, dislodging one of the tears that had gathered in the younger man’s eyes. “Go out in a blaze of glory. You can’t really picture me becoming increasingly weak and dependent on someone to wipe my arse, can you?”  
“No Andrés, please-“  
“Sergio. Let me go, hmm? Let me end it my way. Besides,” his gaze flicked to Raquel beyond his brother’s shoulder, and for once there was only kindness and acceptance in it, “you have a chance at a new life now, at love. So grab it with both hands and _live_ , yes?” He squeezed Sergio’s cheeks. “Promise me.”  
Unable to speak, Sergio could only nod, the tears rolling freely now, and Andrés pulled him into a hug.

As the two brothers embraced, Raquel wiped the tears from her own cheeks, until Berlin said to her, “Take him. Look after him,” and she nodded and moved forward to lay her hand on Sergio’s shoulder.  
“Time to go,” she said softly, and he let her lead him to the truck and shepherd him into the cab, lost and bewildered.  
As they drove off Andrés stood in the road behind them, and Sergio tilted the side-mirror so that he could watch him until he disappeared from sight, somehow knowing he would never see his brother again.

_tbc_


	17. Crossing

_I suppose my relationship with Juan Luis must have come as something of a surprise to a lot of people, but to me it felt as though it were written in the stars from the beginning of time.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_25 November  
_ Sergio stared out of the window as they rattled along on unpaved back roads, three of them squeezed into the cabin of the truck. Marseille was driving, with Raquel wedged in between the two men, all of them now dressed like farmers and labourers. Marseille’s soldier friends followed behind in the second truck, their guns hid under long coats or blankets, for it was freezingly cold. Marseille was not a talkative man and silence didn’t bother him, so he simply drove, focussed on the road, and left his two companions to themselves. Raquel wondered what he thought of her relationship with Sergio, if he actually thought about things like that. Much like Sergio, he was not a demonstrative or emotional man, so perhaps their relationship didn’t really register on his radar.

She turned her attention to the man on her other side, aware of the tension running through him. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left Berlin behind, but she could sense his heartbreak. She could sympathise to some extent, remembering how difficult it had been for her to leave her daughter behind in Lisbon. But at least she knew there was a good chance that she would see Paula again, whereas Sergio had no such guarantees about his brother. There was nothing she could say – this was not the time for empty platitudes, but she wanted to comfort him, this man she had come to love so deeply over the last month. So she reached out and touched the back of his hand, and his anguished gaze turned to her. When he didn’t pull away from her touch, she laced their fingers together and laid her head on his shoulder, and he squeezed her hand gratefully. How strange, she thought, that she already had this innate understanding of what he needed after knowing him such a short time, something she never managed in ten years of marriage with Alberto. It was as though their souls had known each other for all their lives, even though they had met but a short few weeks ago.

They were gradually working their way north, towards the Pyrenees and the French border, and Marseille frowned at the dark clouds that enveloped the distant peaks. “The pass may be snowed under,” he observed, and the comment drew Sergio out of his silent funk. This was not the time to be lost in his sorrow – he had to concentrate, had to get them through safely.  
“Which pass do you plan to take?” he asked, and Raquel sat up.  
“There’s a horse track that passes through Andorra – the plan is to drive to the foot of the mountains there and then cross over on horseback.”  
Sergio pondered that. “You have enough horses to take the gold?”  
Marseille nodded. “Some horses, some mules. Enough,” he confirmed.  
When Raquel looked at Sergio, a worried frown creased his brow, and she asked, “You don’t like the plan?”  
“Er, no, it’s not that. I think it’s a good plan – it’s just…”  
“What?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.  
“I don’t have much experience with horses.”  
“Oh.” She glanced at Marseille to see him grinning, and suppressed her own smile. “Not much, or none at all?” she queried, and Sergio smiled sheepishly.  
“None at all,” he confessed, and she reached out to take his hand once more.  
“Don’t worry. We’ll be moving at walking pace over the pass, so all you have to be able to do is to sit upright in the saddle. The horses know the route, so it will do the rest for you.”

-0-

They were within twenty kilometres of the mountains when a man suddenly stepped into the road in front of them, holding up a hand, and Marseille slammed on the brakes. Raquel had to brace herself against the dashboard to prevent from being hurled into the windscreen, instinctively sticking out a hand to prevent Sergio from flying forward. The truck skidded, but eventually came to a stop a few metres from the man, and she looked over at Sergio to see that a gun had materialised in his hand. But Marseille reached over and pushed it down. “It’s alright – he’s one of ours.” As he wound down the window, letting in a blast of cold air, Sergio turned to Raquel questioningly.  
“We have lookouts all along the route,” she explained, “to warn us of any patrols or blockades.”  
He shook his head in admiration. “You seem to have planned for every eventuality,” he said warmly, and she glowed at the praise. Alberto had always resented her intelligence, had always played it down and belittled her whenever she dared to showcase it, but Sergio was obviously different. He admired it, and he was willing to show his admiration, and it made her feel wonderful – valued.  
“Well, I’ve learnt from the best,” she smiled, returning the praise, and he laughed shyly and pushed his glasses up his nose, absurdly tempted to kiss her.

The man came over to Marseille’s window and leant his arms on the windowsill. The two men exchanged some code-words, aimed at informing each other that all was well and that neither was under any sort of duress. “There’s a military patrol in the area,” he informed them, “last seen ten kilometres up this road. We have radioed the diversion group – they will draw them away. If you stick to this road, you should get through to Andorra without any problems.”  
Marseille nodded, then squinted up at the threatening clouds. “Snow on the pass?” he asked, and the man followed his gaze.  
“Yes, quite heavy in places. There’s a farmer that lives up there, just across the border at the top of the mountain, and he says there’s a blizzard on the way. If you get to his place, he’ll shelter you until the worst has passed.”  
“Alright, thanks,” Marseille said, then slipped the truck into gear and moved off once more.

Sergio leant forward, looking round Raquel. “Hang on. You plan to trek across the mountain in a blizzard, on horses? In the dark?!” He could not quite keep the alarm out of his voice, but Marseille was unperturbed.  
“It’s risky,” he replied, “but doable. They’ll never expect us to try it, so it’ll make for great cover.”  
That was true, and Sergio sat back, worried. It was a good plan, but he couldn’t help but wonder how the hell he was going to cope with it, in light of the fact that he didn’t know how to ride a horse. His troubled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gunfire in the distance, and they strained their ears to listen tensely.  
It seemed to be moving away, off to their right, and Marseille blew out a breath. “The diversion is working,” he concluded, grinning at Raquel, “they’re drawing them away to the east.” He pressed his foot down on the pedal, increasing speed, eager to get through the gap left by the withdrawing patrol before another could take its place.  
Berlin was part of that diversion and Raquel glanced at Sergio, concerned for him, to find his face pale and drawn with worry, and she burrowed into his side and laced her fingers with his once more, hoping fervently that his brother would be okay.

-0-

As soon as they began to climb, the wind picked up and began to buffet the truck in strong gusts, and the temperature plummeted. Raquel felt sorry for the soldiers and Pamuk in the back, who only had the tarpaulin canopy and some blankets to protect them from the elements. The sky darkened, and soon fat snowflakes began to sift down from the low, leaden clouds. Darkness was falling, and she glanced at Marseille’s tense face as he peered through the windscreen at the ever-worsening visibility. She was bone-tired, they all were; it had already been a long day and still there was no end in sight. “Should we stop to put chains on the tyres?” she asked, but Marseille shook his head.  
“Almost there.”  
As the truck slithered around the next bend she grabbed at the dashboard and hoped that he was right, but thankfully, a kilometre later, he swung off the road and into a clearing, where a line of horses was tethered among the trees.  
They hopped out and began to transfer the gold to the saddlebags fastened across the back of each animal. A man came over and spoke in Basque. “That one is the leader,” he informed Marseille, pointing to a big grey gelding. “He can find the path to Koldo’s farm blindfolded. Let him walk in front and the rest will follow.” He looked at the small handful of people that had come with Marseille and frowned. “Be careful,” he added, “there’s talk of increased German Army activity on the French side of the border.”

Raquel exchanged a worried glance with Sergio; they didn’t stand a chance against well-trained soldiers, and she could see from his sombre expression that he felt the same. They would cross over some of the steepest parts of the Pyrenees, in the midst of a snow-storm, and all they could do was hope that these factors would keep them out of the way of any German patrols. Someone brought over two smaller horses and thrust the reins into Raquel’s hand, before trotting off again to help with the loading. Sergio eyed the beasts warily, but they seemed placid enough and he relaxed a bit. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad – like Raquel had said, all he had to do was to stay upright on it. Raquel gave them a once-over before pointing at the slightly bigger one. “You take this one, you have longer legs.” Then she proceeded to give him a brief tutorial on how to hold the reins and how to steer, how to put his foot in the stirrup and mount, and lastly what to do if it should break into a trot. He watched her demonstrate how to lift himself along with its rhythm of movement, and sincerely hoped he wouldn’t need that last part. And then it was time to depart, and he swung up into the saddle ungainly whilst she held onto the halter at the horse’s head. The horse shifted uneasily, sensing that its rider was inexperienced, and Raquel rubbed its nose. “Steady,” she muttered, too soft for Sergio to hear, “I need you to take care of him, alright?” The beast settled down at her soothing tone and she handed over the reins to Sergio before mounting her own horse in a light, smooth motion. He watched on enviously, then patted his horse’s neck awkwardly. “Come on, then.”

Marseille took the big grey and turned it towards the trail, and to Sergio’s relief his horse automatically fell into step behind Raquel’s and followed suit. As they moved up into a narrow gorge he looked round to see a line of horses and pack mules snake into the gloom behind him, all of them looking sure-footed enough on the narrow, snow-covered path. He turned forward to see Raquel checking on him over her shoulder, and smiled reassuringly at her to show her he was fine. Warmth spread through his chest – what a wonderful feeling it was to know that there was someone other than his brother in the world who worried about him, who was looking out for him. He was determined to do the same for her, and already his mind was working on the problem of a possible run-in with the German Army. He looked around him, noting the steep mountains and the snow covering it, and an idea began to form. Perhaps the rugged terrain could be the ace up their sleeve. It would be risky, but they could pull it off, and he felt better for knowing that. He would protect Raquel and the rest of them, and do everything in his power to help her in this endeavour. He pulled the sheepskin coat closer around him and covered his mouth and nose with his scarf, but even so the freezing air stung every bit of exposed skin. It was bitterly cold, but at least the mountain was blocking off the wind, which helped to make it bearable. Soon the last faint daylight disappeared and the darkness was total, all illumination from the moon and stars blocked out by the clouds, and he could barely make out his horse’s head, never-mind the horse in front of or behind him. The snow deadened all sound and all he could hear was the creaking of his own saddle, and it was almost as though he was the only person on this earth, moving through a never-ending black void. It was pretty damn frightening, but his horse seemed calm enough about it, and he tried to follow its lead and relax. He marvelled at the animals’ ability to keep their footing in the slippery conditions, and in the pitch-dark night to boot, until he remembered the rumour he’d once heard that there was a smuggling route through Andorra, which was used to spirit enemies of the Franco regime out of the country before they were arrested and shot. He realised, then, that this must be it, and that these horses had probably made countless treks across this route in the dark.

As they plodded on, up a steep incline, he couldn’t help but ponder the strange turn his life had taken. Here he was, self-imposed loner and a thief all his life, suddenly doing something for love and for altruistic reasons. The last part was perhaps not all that surprising, for he had been a resistance fighter at heart all his life – ever since they had gunned down his father – and he loved nothing more than sticking it to the unfair regimes he had to live under. But this endeavour was something more, though; it was a fight against the worst kind of fascism, against racism, and possibly against evil itself. They simply could not fail, could not let the gold fall into German hands. The more he thought about it, the more he understood Raquel’s actions and the need she had felt to lie to him and to deceive him. He understood, also, that she had not set out to seduce him for the sole purpose of distracting him from her lies, but that this connection between them had sparked and evolved despite both their best efforts to resist it. No, he really couldn’t blame her for any of it, and the realisation made his heart feel lighter. If they got out of this alive, he resolved that he would try to tell her all of this, that he would make sure that she knew she was loved and admired. He was determined to give her a better life than what she had endured under her abusive husband. A whisper came to him through the dark, barely audible. “We’re going to top the ridge soon – brace for the wind.” Raquel, looking out for him once more. God, he was a lucky man.

As they approached the summit he could hear the wind howl, and clasped his legs more securely around the beast below him, but still he was almost knocked off by the sheer force of it. It blasted the snow into his face and his eyes, and he pulled the woollen hat as low as he could to protect himself. Surely no German patrol would be out in this weather, so they were safe for now. Thankfully they only had a short way to go along the top of the ridge, before they plunged into a hollow and the wind was cut off once more. He shook himself like a wet dog, dislodging a flurry of snow from his coat, before he saw a pin of light in the distance. He tensed and delved for the gun under his coat, but when he looked around no-one else seemed perturbed, and he realised that its appearance was expected. They ploughed into a copse of trees until they reached a small clearing, where a couple of buildings loomed up out of the gloom. There was a brief square of light as a door was opened, before it disappeared again and a small flame floated towards them – a man with a lantern. He did not waste any time, but immediately began to issue instructions. “Take the horses to the stables on the right there and get them dry and warm. There’s wood for fires for that purpose. I left bedding – you can make beds for yourselves on the straw-bales.” His disembodied voice continued gloomily after a pause. “You better dig in – the worst of the storm is yet to come, so you might be stuck here for many hours.”  
Marseille’s voice drifted out of the dark in response. “I have a female agent on the crew, can you perhaps accommodate her and her husband in the house?”  
Sergio froze, stunned. Did Marseille just refer to him as Raquel’s husband? To his surprise the thought was not an unappealing one, and he followed without argument when the farmer escorted them to his small cabin.

“You can take the cabin; I’m going to help the others look after my horses,” he said magnanimously, and Raquel was too cold and tired to argue. She thanked him profusely, especially when he pointed to a pot of hot soup on the woodstove, and then he was gone with a slam of the door, a bigger pot in his hands for the men in the barn. She looked around. The place consisted of only one long room under low beams, and a large fire crackled in the fireplace in the corner, spreading welcome warmth through the small space. There was a bed close to it, whilst a table and a couple of chairs occupied the other half, by the stove. It was cosy and clean, and she felt like she was in heaven. “Oh, God, I’m fucking frozen,” she declared, going over to the fire to spread her hands over the flames. “My fingers are too cold to even unbutton my coat,” she lamented, and to her surprise Sergio walked over and began to do it for her. He stood close to her and his scent filled her nostrils as she looked up at him, at the tender expression on his face as he gazed down at her. _He was still here_. Despite all her lies, he was here, gently unbuttoning her coat. “Let me,” he said, his voice soft and warm, and just like that the desire ignited in the pit of her stomach. It set her blood on fire and coursed through her veins to every part of her body within seconds, and it was so potent and overwhelming that she clean forgot how exhausted she was. All she could think about was him, this man she loved so dearly, and his skin against hers, and his length inside her, filling her again and again.  
“Sergio,” she sighed, his name an endearment, her arousal evident in the low timbre of her voice, and his movements froze as his eyes jumped to hers to confirm what he already knew. Hers were pools of undisguised want, and he felt himself stir instantaneously. How did she do it – turn him on with nothing more than a word, a look? But the question fled his mind almost as soon as it came into his head, overrun by another, heady one – the knowledge that they were going to make love. Here, now, in the middle of the mountains, in this small cabin. His breathing sped up and he wrenched the coat from her shoulders, and then his lips were on hers, urgent and demanding.

_tbc_


	18. Ambush

_Behind me was a complicated past, and in front of me, like an omen, I could see a space opening out, a great empty space that time would take care of filling up. But with what? With things, and affections. With moments, sensations, and people: with life.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_26 November  
_ _Andorra  
_ Their tiredness evaporated in the heat of their passion, and they undressed hurriedly, eager to feel skin against skin. Once they were both naked, they came together again, entwining, pressing together as closely as possible as they kissed, open-mouthed and deep, tasting each other, savouring their closeness. This would be their first time together without the shadows of deceit lurking in the background, without the barrier of secrets between them, and they were both aware of it. This time, it was just them, pure and untainted. It was intoxicating. She clawed at his shoulders, his neck, his hair, all control lost, and he pressed his growing erection against her hip in response, seeking the stimulation of her touch. Raquel took him in hand, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, and he gasped into her mouth and sucked her lower lip between his. She kept her hand still at first, just squeezing gently, feeling him grow hot and hard, and it fuelled her own arousal to almost unbearable levels. Already the wetness was seeping from her, and they hadn’t even done much yet.

She marvelled at it, at how fiercely she wanted him, wanted the sex, wanted him to make love to her until she forgot everything but him. She was dimly aware, in the back of her mind, that some of it was a reaction to not feeling desired by Alberto, and to how obviously Sergio did in contrast. But that was not all of it; mostly it was due to this unexpected and inexplicable chemistry between them on more than just a physical level. Theirs was a meeting of minds as much as of bodies, and she had never known that it could be this good, this intimate, to join with another human being. She delved her tongue into his mouth, wanting more, always more, and he thrust into her palm in response. She took her cue and pumped him a few times, and he dropped a hand between them to search out her clit, remembering how much she liked to be touched there. That was another difference between Sergio and Alberto; the man she now held in her arms took the trouble to learn her, to discover what she liked in bed and to remember it, with the result that the sex became better each time they slept together. This knowledge emboldened her to try something new, and she raised on tiptoes so that she could press the head of his cock against her clit, wondering how it might feel. He pulled back slightly, looking down at what she was doing, and then thrust against her, once, experimentally. _Oh, sweet Jesus…  
_ “Fuck, Sergio,” she groaned, as the sensation spiralled through her, “again.”  
He lifted his head, a feral look in his eyes as they locked onto hers, and repeated the movement. Raquel shuddered, her knees going weak, and he grabbed hold of her hips to hold her upright as he did it again. And again. She flung her arms around his neck for support as he kept going, her breathing harsh as her orgasm started to build, and then, after one more thrust, it swept over her and her head tipped forward, onto his shoulder.

She bit down on his skin, hard enough to leave indentations, and then soothed them with her tongue. He slipped an arm under her behind and lifted her, carrying her backwards towards the bed, and they collapsed onto it. She didn’t waste time, even though the after-effects of her orgasm were still rippling through her, but straddled him so that she could rub her wetness all over his cock. _See what you do to me, see how much I want you_ , she was saying without words, and his gaze became heated as he reached up to cup her breasts and rub his thumbs over the hardened nipples. Once he was thoroughly coated in her juices she lifted her hips and positioned him, then sank down slowly until he was buried to the hilt inside her. They both exhaled in bliss, grinning at each other, before she leant forward to kiss him, planting her hands beside his head. They kissed softly, reaffirming their feelings for each other, and when she pulled back she felt the need to express it in words as well. “God, I love this,” she proclaimed, caressing his cheek and staring into his eyes. “I love being with you like this. I love making love to you.” And then the words slipped out, almost unconsciously: “I love you.”  
He gazed into her eyes, too moved to say anything, so instead he burrowed both hands into her hair, holding her head above him, and lifted his hips into hers. They moved together, slowly at first, taking their time, enjoying each other, until eventually it was no longer enough, and then she sat up, planting her hands on his chest, and rode him mercilessly until he exploded inside her, drawing her second orgasm of the night from her.

-0-

They slept, spooned together in the narrow bed after cleaning up and wolfing down some of the soup, heedless of the storm raging around them. At some stage during the night the cold woke Sergio, and he realised that the fire had almost gone out. He slipped out of bed, drawing a mumble of protest from Raquel, and threw an armful of logs on the fire. When he climbed back under the blankets once more and pressed his now-cold skin against her back, Raquel’s eyes shot open with an exclamation. “Ah! You’re cold,” she complained, and he pulled back with an apology, rolling over on his back to watch the fire. After a beat she rolled over too and cushioned her head on his chest.  
“Let me help warm you up,” she offered, pressing herself against his side and running her hand all over the skin of his chest and arm. He sighed happily, once again counting his lucky stars, and sliding his own hand down her back to cup a buttock.

They lay quietly for a while, touching and caressing each other as they watched the flames, lost in their own thoughts. Then, out of the blue, she asked, “Do you think I’m deluded?”  
He looked down at her questioningly as she traced her fingers down his arm. “Deluded?”  
“Yes. To think I can influence world events,” she clarified. “I mean, who am I, after all? A mere housewife playing at being a spy-“  
“No.” His hand slid up her back to curl around her neck, to make her look at him. “You could never be just a ‘mere housewife’, Raquel.” He stared at her, urging her to hear him. “And I despise your husband for making you think that. You are extraordinary, strong and brave, and if anyone can influence world events, it’s you.” Tears of gratitude filled her eyes, and he traced a thumb down her cheek in a gesture of love and comfort. “You are not a housewife – you are a Resistance fighter,” he smiled, “and now I am one too. And for that I will forever be grateful to you, because it’s all I’ve ever really wanted to be. Not just a thief, a criminal, but one whose actions are a form of protest against an unfair regime.”  
She sighed shakily, moved by his confession, then slid over him and covered his body with her own until she could press her nose against his. “Oh, I think you’ve always been that, my love. Ever since they shot your father.” And then she kissed him again, with intent this time, burrowing a hand into his hair and tracing her tongue over his upper lip at the same time. He revelled in her ministrations, deliriously happy. They were two peas in a pod, and if she were deluded for thinking this crazy heist could change world events, then so was he, for he believed it with all his heart too, along with her.

-0-

The storm raged until mid-morning, and when the wind finally died down and the snow stopped falling, they emerged into a world covered in a thick white blanket. It was quite beautiful, but Raquel could afford little time to admire it. Instead she eyed their surroundings with some dismay, knowing that it meant that it would be heavy going, and that it would delay their progress. She wanted to reach the French Resistance with their precious cargo as soon as possible, for the responsibility of it, of keeping the gold out of German hands, weighed heavily upon her. But at least she was no longer carrying it alone, she thought as her gaze fell on Sergio, deep in conversation with Marseille as they looked over their stockpile of weapons. Warmth filled her chest as she thought back over the previous night, and a slight blush tinged her cheeks. They had gone at it like horny teenagers, and she couldn’t believe how little control she had where he was concerned. She was head-over-heels in love and constantly randy, and this at the age of forty. It should feel ridiculous, but instead all she felt was joy and the hope that it would never fade, never become ordinary. But now the time for reminiscence was over – there was work to be done yet, and she shook out of it and stepped forward to help saddle the horses for the final leg of their journey.

Before they departed, Marseille gathered them round. “We are moving into the area where they spotted German patrols, and with the new snow our trail will be pretty obvious. So we need to be alert at all times. Furthermore, sound will travel now that the storm is over, so we must maintain absolute silence. Wrap the metal parts of your horses’ gear in material to prevent it from jingling,” he ordered, and there was a general scuffle as they did as they were told. Marseille nodded at the Professor, who took over. “Our friend the farmer has agreed to take a couple of horses and go in another direction, just to sow a bit of confusion. That might buy us enough time to set up to defend ourselves if needed.” He looked round at their concerned faces. “If we are discovered, we must act before they can – set an ambush for them.” There was a murmur of approval for this proactive approach, and Sergio continued. “Once we become aware that we are being tracked, we will lure them into a narrow gorge and use the lay of the land and the snow to our advantage. When the time comes, you must follow my instructions quickly and to the letter, and we should be okay, even if we are heavily outnumbered.” He sounded very confident, but Raquel, who knew him well by now, could tell that it was a false bravado, an attempt to reassure the others and fortify them for what was to come. He was worried, and that more than anything else brought home how fraught with danger the next couple of hours would be. Once the instructions were done and it was time to go, they swung into the saddle and set off, Marseille in the lead on the big grey once more. He lifted Pamuk onto the saddle in front of him, for the snow was too deep for the dog to trot alongside, and the horse headed out on the invisible path with unerring accuracy.

It ploughed a furrow through the snow for the rest of them to follow, and when Raquel looked back, she saw what Marseille had meant – their route was as clear as day in the virgin snow behind them. She shifted, unhooking her rifle and holding it in front of her, ready for action. Behind her she heard Sergio do the same as they exited the copse of trees that hid the small farm and moved into the open. If a plane should fly over they would be sitting ducks, and she strained her ears for any hint of an approaching aircraft, but thankfully there was nothing. They were enveloped in silence, with only the odd bird call for company. Her breath misted in front of her, for it was still quite cold, but without the wind cutting through them it was actually tolerable. Her coat was snug and warm, and she smiled involuntarily when she thought back to how carefully Sergio had buttoned it for her that morning, in stark contrast to how urgently he had ripped it off her the night before. She knew that she would treasure the previous night for the rest of her days; that she would remember it as the first time they had stood in front of each other without any defences, without holding anything back. Not to mention the sex – how could she ever forget the mind-blowing sex? No, that part would most certainly stay with her until the day she died, even if she should forget everything else about it.

They trudged on, slowly but surely working their way down the mountain and towards the relative safety of a French Resistance stronghold at the foot of it, and as first one hour, then two passed without incident, Raquel began to believe they would make it and everything would be fine, but the thought had barely entered her head when Marseille stopped and held up a hand, and they all froze in place. Pamuk had his head up and ears pricked, and she listened, barely daring to breathe. And then she heard it: a cough, and the jingle of a horse’s harness, and her heart leapt into her throat. A second later she heard a low voice, too soft to make out any words, but all the same she recognised the guttural sound of the German language, and her blood turned to ice. There were Germans somewhere below them. Marseille looked round, his finger pressed to his lips, then pointed toward a gully they had passed a hundred metres back. The signal went down the line and they began to retreat, as quietly as humanly possible. To her surprise Sergio urged his horse past the others to reach the mouth of the gully first. He waited there, speaking in a whisper to everyone that came past, and she saw the line of horses retreat even further down the path they had come, until they disappeared around a rocky outcrop and out of sight. When she reached him, he whispered, “Keep going. Marseille and I will lure them up this gully.”  
She stared at him, shock written all over her face, and shook her head adamantly. _I’m coming with you - I won’t leave you.  
_ But he reached out and grabbed her arm. “You need to stay with the others, so you can take the lead if something goes wrong.”  
Oh, God, no. He couldn’t ask this of her-  
He squeezed her arm, cutting off her thoughts. “This is bigger than us,” he whispered fiercely, “and one of us has to see it through. Now go.”  
He was right, of course he was, and she spurred her horse on, following the others around the outcrop, a leaden weight in her chest.

As soon as she was out of sight, she dismounted and scrambled up the ridge, until she reached a height where she could see what was going on. Sergio and Marseille were methodically covering the tracks that went past the gully, sweeping them away with a branch. Then they rode their horses up and down the gully, creating new tracks that led to the back, before Marseille brought the horses over to the others and left them there. He had barely made it back to the gully when the first German soldier came into sight, moving slowly up the path, a cigarette in his mouth. When he saw the tracks turning into the gully he hastily dropped it and whispered a warning to his comrades, scrabbling for the rifle that was slung across his shoulders. They kept on coming, one after the other, until Raquel had counted twenty of them – a full company. If this turned into a shoot-out, they wouldn’t stand a chance. _Oh God, Sergio…_ Fear gripped her, and she clutched her rifle tight, aiming it at the first man that had come into sight, and who seemed to be the leader. She kept him in her crosshairs as the Germans milled about at the entrance to the gully, seemingly undecided about what to do. Where was Sergio? She lifted her head a fraction, trying to spot him, and at first she saw nothing. Then, to her horror, she found him, slowly scaling the steep side of the gully, not far from where the German soldiers were massed. Her heart nearly stopped. Surely they would see him as soon as they turned into the gully. It would only take one of them to look up, and it would be over. They would pick him off the rocks like a sitting duck. What the fuck was he doing?! This was madness.

Her gaze swivelled between him and the Germans, as she prayed fervently that he would get over the top and out of sight before the soldiers moved up the narrow gorge. She was not a religious woman, but in that moment se exhorted every higher power that might exist to protect him. The Germans seemed to reach a decision, for the leader turned his horse into the gully and began to move up it cautiously. She trained her rifle on him once more, determined to do everything in her power to help Sergio, and watched the scene unfold with bated breath. _Don’t look up,_ she willed the soldier silently, feeling sweat run down her back and into her eyes. She steadied her breath; she was a good shot, and she would take a few of the bastards with if everything should go to hell. And then everything did go to hell, but not in the way she had expected. There was a bright flash, and another, and a split-second later two almighty bangs echoed across the mountain. Snow spewed up, and she heard a loud crack, followed by a rumbling sound. She looked up, petrified, and saw the rolling wave of snow rush down and swamp the gully and everyone in it in the blink of an eye.

And all she could think was – _Sergio was in there too_. And her heart broke into a million pieces.

_tbc_


	19. Pride

_For the first time in a long while, perhaps for the first time in my life, I felt proud of myself. Proud to know that I was capable of making this world full of madmen a safer place. Proud of the woman I had become.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_26 November  
_ _Pyrenees  
_ _Five minutes earlier  
_ The plan was simple enough – lure the Germans into a narrow valley and use the terrain and the snow to their advantage. But as Sergio desperately tried to scale the steep side of the gully, he could hear the enemy approach and he knew – there wasn’t enough time. He wouldn’t make it over the top before they entered the narrow gorge and they would see him, and pick him off with ease. That morning he had swapped his rifle for a grenade launcher and it banged awkwardly across his back as he scrabbled for a foothold against the steep cliff. If he slipped now, it would all be over. _That morning_. God, it felt like a lifetime ago now, that he had woken up in Raquel’s arms, and that they had set out on this final leg of their journey across the mountains. He had been so determined to find a way to protect them, protect her, and when this plan had taken shape he had let himself believe that it would work. Whilst the others watched out for the Germans, he had studied the terrain around them, noting every fold in the landscape, every steep mountain side burgeoned with fresh, uncompacted snow, every rocky outcrop that would offer cover. For this was his plan: once they made contact with the Germans, get Raquel, the gold and the others to safety behind a rocky outcrop, and lure the German soldiers into the nearest indentation in the landscape. Then, use grenades to disturb the unstable snow and cause an avalanche that would hopefully bury their adversaries and give them a chance to get away. Yes, it seemed so simple, so elegant, but he had never considered that he and Marseille would not make it out of the gully in time to fire the grenades and set the whole thing in motion.

Sweat stung his eyes and his glasses fogged up, and he wondered where Marseille was. The big man was supposed to scale the opposite wall of the gully, but Sergio didn’t dare look around for fear that he would lose his tenuous grip and fall. He heard a command barked in German, and even though he didn’t speak the language he instinctively knew that it was the order to proceed into the gully. He peered upwards desperately; he had about three more metres to scale, and now he had a decision to make. Should he stay still and hope they didn’t spot him, and let the plan go down the drain, or should he commit to a last, bold spurt of movement and risk making some noise that would draw attention to him? He blinked slowly, knowing there was really only one option – the one that would give him a chance to pull off his plan and protect Raquel. For in the end that was all that mattered, that she should have the best chance possible to do what she had set out to do. Even if he didn’t make it, he would buy her some time, and a chance to get away with the gold. He pressed his cheek against the cold rock, steeling himself, and then he made a dash for it. He scrambled up the last few metres, dislodging some snow in the process and expecting a bullet between his shoulder blades at any moment, but miraculously it never came. And then he was over the top and out of sight, unable to believe his luck.

He lay on his back, breathing hard, amazed that the Germans hadn’t spotted him. He began to wonder if there might actually be some sort of higher power, looking down on them, on their fight against injustice, with benevolence. But there was no time to waste on philosophising, and he struggled upright and reached for the grenade launcher. As he felt for the deadly steel ball in his knapsack he looked over the gully to the ridge on the other side, to see Marseille on one knee, ready to launch his grenade. Thank God. He had come to like the big man. Sergio slotted his grenade into the launcher, then checked the progress of the Germans down in the gully. They had to be far enough in to be unable to outrun the avalanche once it came. Not yet… He waited, counting every second, until he was satisfied that there would be no escape. Then he looked over at Marseille once more, lifting an arm as a signal, and saw the other man take aim at the mountainside in the distance. He turned his attention to his own launcher and did the same, aiming halfway up the steep rise. Oh, God, please let this work… He took a breath, steadying himself, pulled the pin from the grenade and squeezed the trigger. There was a loud hiss as the gas canister kicked into action, propelling the projectile towards the distant target in a graceful arc, and Sergio held his breath. What if the grenades didn’t explode? He was vaguely aware of a warning shout from below in the gully, and knew that the Germans were now aware of his presence and his position. Panic began to rise, but then there were two bright flashes on the mountain flank, and two booms rolled down towards him a split-second later. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, and he began to fumble for another grenade, but then there was an almighty crack, and he looked up to see the snow begin to shift. _Yes._ Time to run.

He sprang to his feet, flung the launcher away and ran for his life. There was a tall rock about twenty metres away and he made a beeline for it, listening to the growing roar as the rush of snow grew ever closer. Fuck, he wasn’t going to make it. Regret burned bright in his mind, Raquel’s face flashing before him, and he set his jaw determinedly. He wanted to live so badly, to have a future with the amazing woman he had fallen in love with, and he found an extra spurt of speed, straining every sinew. _Almost there-_ The wind created by the onrushing avalanche reached him and lifted him off his feet, throwing him the last few metres into the lee of the rock. And then the snow was upon him, and he covered his head with his arms and stayed low, pressing into the base of the barrier. He could hear stones and branches ping off it, and the whooshing of the passing snow, and his life flashed before his eyes. It seemed to last forever, but eventually the noise began to subside, then die down completely, leaving an almost unearthly silence in its wake.

He lay still for a minute, taking stock. He was covered by a layer of snow but he could still breathe, and when he gingerly tried to move his arms and legs, he could do so without too much resistance. He pushed upright and emerged into a world of white almost as far as the eye could see. He moved back to the edge of the cliff, looking down into the gully, to find it filled about halfway with snow. There was no sign of the German soldiers, and he raised his arms into the air in triumph. _It had worked. It had fucking worked._ There was a roar from the other side, and he looked over to see Marseille’s beaming face, and beyond him, standing stock-still on the rocky outcrop where the others had hid, Raquel.

-0-

They gathered at the mouth of the gully, back on the path, and there was a lot of smiling and backslapping as the tension of the last hour released. Sergio joined in, buoyed by his narrow escape, but when Raquel pushed through the crowd, a furious expression on her face, the smile slid from his face. He watched apprehensively as she marched up.  
“First of all,” she snapped, shoving him in the chest hard enough to make him take a step back, “don’t ever scare me like that again.” She glared at him, and he could still see the remnants of her fear that she had lost him in her eyes. He opened his mouth, intent on apologising, but she bulldozed on. “And second of all,” and then she stepped forward, grabbed his head and kissed him. It took a beat for him to catch up to this development, but once he did he encircled her in his arms and kissed her back soundly, not caring how many people were watching on. They were both alive, they were together, and that was all that mattered in the moment.

It took Marseille loudly clearing his throat to bring them back to their surroundings, and they pulled apart with sheepish expressions. “Right,” he said, all business, “we won this round, and now we have to make the most of it. The chances of there being another German company in this immediate vicinity is slim, so we are going to sacrifice stealth in favour of speed. We have to get to the Resistance as fast as we can, and to hell with being quiet.” He turned to Sergio, who nodded his support for this approach, and everyone mounted their horses and pushed on down the mountain as fast as they dared to go on the uneven terrain. There was a hairy moment when one of the pack-mules stumbled and fell, but luckily the animal was uninjured and they could move on once more. To Sergio’s relief the trail began to flatten out after a couple of hours, as his knees were complaining bitterly at the strain of having to clamp onto the horse to prevent himself from sliding forward and over its neck on the steep downslope. And at long last the small village that served as the headquarters of the French Resistance came into view, and Raquel twisted round on her horse to look at him, a proud grin on her face. He grinned back, overjoyed for her. She had done it. _They_ had done it.

-0-

_26 November  
_ _Evening  
_ They were billeted with a kind, deaf old woman, who had shown them to a cramped little room at the back of her house. But it was clean and had a small wood stove in the corner, so Raquel did not have any complaints. It had been a long day, what with all the excitement of the trek across the mountain and the skirmish with the German soldiers, and then the long discussions with the leader of the French Resistance once they arrived at the village. He had been ecstatic at the gift of the gold and had immediately set about the purchase of weapons and supplies with Marseille’s help. Her fellow-spy had put the Resistance in contact with the British Intelligence officer he and Raquel had been reporting to, and the man had undertaken to help with the procurement of what the Resistance needed. And after all of that, they had to sit through a meal with the Resistance fighters, where their good health was repeatedly toasted, with the result that Raquel was rather tipsy by the time they followed the old woman to her house. She put her arm through Sergio’s, using him for support, as he manfully tried to have a conversation with their host. But it was a losing battle, for she misheard every third word, with the result that she kept answering a whole different question to the one he had actually asked. It was hilarious, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud - she did not want to affront their hostess. The night was cold but cloudless, and she looked up at the brittle stars that shone down on them, and let them fill her senses, along with the presence of the man at her side. Sergio. The Professor. Her lover and, she already knew, the love of her life. Oh, God, how she loved him.

She turned her head to press a kiss to his shoulder, unable to resist, but still it wasn’t enough. Perhaps it was the alcohol coursing through her veins, but she couldn’t keep her hands off him any longer. All night long she had sat across the dinner table from him, watching him eat, talk and laugh, the flame of lust growing higher, hotter with every minute that passed. She had stared at his hands as he gestured while he talked, at the way he used his thumb to emphasise a point he had made, at how he used that thumb and forefinger to push his glasses up his nose. She had remembered how that same forefinger had felt inside her as he had sucked on her clit, and felt the moisture already begin to gather between her legs. She had gazed at his lips as he took a sip from his wineglass, at his tongue as it flickered out to lick a stray drop from the corner of his mouth, and had thought about how those same lips, that same tongue had felt as it enveloped and licked her hardened nipple. A current of electricity had shot through her at the memory, running from her nipples to her core, and she had squeezed her knees together, trying to control the urge to move around the table and straddle him then and there, right in front of everyone. The fact that such a thought had actually entered her head had appalled and aroused her in equal measure; oh fuck, she had never been as randy as this in her entire life. Some of it was the release of tension, of course, of having fulfilled her mission, and of how proud she was of that fact. She was no longer just a battered housewife – she had made a difference, and the knowledge was like a drug, heightening her senses and feelings. But most of it was simply her constant desire, her physical need for Sergio, no longer kept in check by other, more pressing matters that had to be attended to.

As they walked along the narrow, cobbled street behind the old lady, she could no longer control it. She needed to touch him, to feel his skin under her hands, so she lifted a hand and ran her fingers through his hair, before caressing the sensitive skin of his neck. She traced a path down his back until she reached his waist and raked up his shirt, pressing her palm against the exposed skin. He turned his head towards her, and she could make out the glint of his eyes in the dark as he looked at her, and it fuelled the fire that was building inside her even further. She brazenly shoved her hand down the back of his trousers, groping his butt, and his step faltered as he totally lost the thread of the conversation with the old lady. She didn’t notice a thing, however, as she couldn’t hear his words properly anyway. When Raquel glanced up at his face, she could make out the tinge of a scarlet blush on his cheeks in the starlight, and it only spurred her on. She kept her hand there, fondling, stroking, caressing, until she could feel his breathing become harsh and irregular, and she knew without having to look that he was sporting an impressive erection. Fuck, how much further…?

And then, thankfully, they reached the house. As they stepped inside and into the light, Raquel pulled out her hand and moved in front of Sergio, screening his tented trousers from their host’s view, and heard him breathe out a sigh of relief behind her. She thanked the old woman, and mumbled something about being awfully tired, before shepherding Sergio to their room with undue haste.  
“Shit, Raquel,” Sergio exclaimed as soon as the door closed behind them and she immediately fumbled for his belt and zipper, “what’s got into you toni-“  
His words were cut off as she shoved her hand inside his underwear and released his cock, watching it rear up eagerly as soon as it was free. He was as hard as a rock, and when she simply stared for a few seconds, running her tongue over her lips at the sight, he almost came right on the spot. She pushed him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down heavily, causing the bedsprings to squeak loudly. They both froze, looking at each other, and Sergio groaned. “Shit,” he repeated, “the old woman will hear us.”  
But Raquel merely laughed, low and sultry, as she spread his legs and sank to her knees between them. ”Are you kidding? She’s as deaf as a lamppost – we could fuck right next to her bed and she wouldn’t hear anything.”

Her breath puffed over the head of his penis as she talked, and he inhaled shakily as the tension coiled in his groin and he felt like his balls were about to explode. As she looked up at him from between his legs, his cock standing to attention right in front of her mouth, it was obvious what she intended to do, and he had never been as turned on as this in his life. His whole body hummed in anticipation; he had not experienced this particular sex act before, but Andrés had waxed lyrical about the feeling of being ‘sucked off’ by a woman, as he had called it. He watched, entranced, as she looked down at his rigid length, then smiled slightly and licked her lips once more, before she dipped her head and enveloped him in her mouth, and he forgot to breathe. Her mouth was wet and hot, and she took him in as deep as she could and sucked, hard, and he nearly blacked out. _Fuck, God. Christ._ The pleasure was unbearable, and yet he never wanted it to stop. She released him with a wet ‘plop’, looking up to see what effect she was having on him, and grinned at his expression of stunned ecstasy. “Would you like some more?” she asked, her voice lower than he had ever heard it, as she scraped her nails up the insides of his thighs and cupped his balls in one hand. _Yes, more please. Don’t ever stop,_ his brain shouted, but the connection between it and his mouth seemed to have short-circuited. Speech was beyond him, so he merely nodded, shifting his hips forward to give her even better access, and she obliged.

As she lowered her head to him once more and swirled her tongue across the tip, his hands weaved into her hair, keeping her head between his legs. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes, then scraped her teeth up the underside of his cock, along the vein that ran there, and he hissed, his thigh muscle tensing under the hand that was not fondling his balls. She smiled around him, and the sight of his hard length disappearing between her smiling lips was too much, and he lost it. “God, please,” he breathed, and she set to work in earnest, bobbing her head up and down in his lap as the hand that cradled his balls squeezed and fondled. He hooked her hair out of the way so that he could watch everything, restraining himself from thrusting into her mouth with a supreme effort of will. His orgasm built rapidly, and within minutes he was on the brink, and he pulled at her head in desperation. “I- I’m going to-“ he gasped, but she shrugged off his attempts to pull her up and redoubled her efforts, and when she took him in as deep as she could one more time and sucked hard, he shattered. Stars exploded behind his eyelids, over and over, for he didn’t know how long, and then there was only black.

-0-

_Minglanilla, Spain  
_ It was close to midnight by the time Inspector Vicuña stomped into the small hotel and banged on the brass bell on the desk. He was moody and tired; it had been a long fucking two days as he tried to piece together what had become of General Franco’s gold. When the case had been assigned to him, he’d been ecstatic at first, knowing that solving it would boost his career and move hm closer to the Commissioner post he had eyed for five years now. But as first one day, and then another, passed without significant progress, and as the pressure from above for a result increased, he began to realise that it might in actual fact turn out to be a poisoned chalice. The proprietor of this shitty establishment had called the Police after discovering Captain Suarez tied up and gagged in one of his rooms, and the guests that had booked it disappeared without word. As the Inspector waited for the man to drag himself out of bed and attend to the bell, he pondered what he had learnt so far. The secretary of the Director of the Mint, disappearing just after the gold had left Madrid. The bridge near Minglanilla blown up, and the false company of the Third Army Battalion turning up and loading the gold onto three trucks, then driving off with it without a single shot being fired. The hotel proprietor finding the actual Captain Suarez in his hotel.

It had come as somewhat of a shock to learn that the missing secretary was in fact Mónica Gaztambide, one of his wife’s friends, and he was relieved that Raquel was out of town when all of this had happened. It would have been damned awkward to question his own wife about her thieving friend. At last the proprietor stumbled into the foyer, and Alberto scowled at him and flashed his police identification. “I need all the information you have about the people who rented the room you found the Captain in,” he barked. He used intimidation as his stock questioning technique – he was a firm believer that fear loosened people’s tongues.  
“Oh, er, right.” The proprietor shook his head. “They were such a lovely couple – so obviously in love,” he lamented, as he searched in his book to show the Inspector where Mr and Mrs Martín had signed in.  
Alberto rolled his eyes; how gullible ordinary people often were. He had already deduced that the visitors must have been the Gaztambide woman and whomever she had seduced to help her pull off this caper, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph of her. “Was this her?”  
The proprietor frowned at the picture, then shook his head. “Oh, no. She was older.”  
Irritated now, Alberto shoved the photo at him again. “Are you sure? Take another look,” he insisted, but the proprietor pushed it right back.  
“I’m sure, Inspector. Her hair was different, too. Straight, and longer and darker with gold streaks.”

Alberto hesitated; it almost sounded as though the man was describing Raquel. But surely that couldn’t be… And yet, Mónica was her closest friend. Had she somehow got his wife mixed up in this business?! He dug his wallet out of his pocket and took out a picture of Raquel and Paula, and held it out to the man. “Is this her?”  
The proprietor took one look and his face brightened. “Yes! That’s Mrs Martín,” he beamed, happy to be of help to the Police, and Alberto’s head swam.  
It was impossible – Raquel was in Lisbon with their daughter, not here in Minglanilla, pretending to be another man’s wife and looking ‘obviously in love’. Wasn’t she…? And then the anger came. He snatched back the photo and turned on his heel, heading back to his car.  
The proprietor trotted after him. “Wait, Inspector, don’t you want to know about the warehouse-“  
Alberto slammed the car door shut, cutting off the man’s voice. He couldn’t care less about some fucking warehouse. All he wanted to know was whether his wife had betrayed him.

And there was only one way to find out.

_tbc_


	20. Surprise

_And I also discovered, with the most immense discomfort, that at any time and for no apparent reason, everything we think is stable can go wrong, deviate, twist its course and start to change.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_26 November  
_ _Just before midnight  
_ _French Resistance Headquarters, Pyrenees  
_ When Sergio eventually returned to his body and became aware of his surroundings once more, he was laid out on the bed, his shoes and trousers removed and his shirt unbuttoned, and Raquel was seated next to his thigh, gazing down at him, stark naked. He blinked blearily, thinking for a moment that his mind was playing tricks on him, but no – she was indeed naked. Her thigh was pressed against his, skin against skin, and she was tracing patterns all over his chest and stomach. Every now and then her hand would stray lower, tracing along the length of his now-flaccid penis before returning to the sensitive skin of his stomach once more. His eyes traced over her body, starting with her leg next to his, then straying up to its apex, and when she saw him looking she spread her legs until he could see her glistening with arousal. To his astonishment he felt himself begin to stir once more, felt the blood rush to his groin, eager to be buried inside her in the near future. Oh, God, this woman was going to be the death of him. His eyes moved up to her breasts, to see the nipples stand to attention, and he reached out a hand to cup the nearest one, to run his thumb over the stiff bud. He looked up at her face then, to see her watch him with smoky eyes, her gaze hot and needy. She made no attempt to hide how turned on she still was, how randy, and it fuelled his ego and his stamina in equal measure.

His hand dropped to snake between her legs, and her mouth opened in a silent gasp as her head tilted back at his touch. She was sopping wet, and he rubbed eagerly along her folds until his middle finger found her opening and pushed inside. Her hand closed around his cock in response, squeezing and caressing, trying to speed up his erection, and he realised just how eager she was for him. It was a heady thought, that this magnificent woman wanted him with such intensity, and it emboldened him. He pressed his thumb down on her clit, rubbing it in small, tight circles, and her back arched as she pressed herself into his touch. A soft, “Mmm” escaped her, and she smiled at him as she began to buck against his hand. He sat up, wanting desperately to kiss her, and once more the bed squeaked loudly with the movement, and he froze in alarm. When his hand stopped moving she looked at him in annoyance, and he made an instant decision. This really would not do – he wanted to give her the same pleasure she had bestowed on him earlier, without interruption. “Mattress on the floor, now,” he commanded, and her eyes lit up. She scrambled off the bed and he followed suit, and together they dragged the mattress off the squeaky bedframe and placed it on the floor in front of the wood stove. Sergio took the opportunity to strip off his remaining clothes as Raquel bent over to spread their own blanket over the sheet. It seemed that even in the height of passion she was fastidious, making sure they didn’t soil the old woman’s linen.

His gaze traced over her naked butt, her graceful back, and he took himself in hand, working his cock into full erectness. When she looked over her shoulder and saw him do it, her eyes darkened and she stopped arranging the blanket to watch. He had never been an exhibitionist, but to his surprise he felt comfortable doing it in front of her. “So, uhm, what do you want?” he asked, wanting to please her, and she smiled at him, happy to be asked.  
“I want you,” she said simply, before her gaze dropped to his now-stiff-again cock once more, “all six inches of you.”  
He laughed, shaking his head at her brazenness, before he stepped forward to embrace her. They kissed, happy and in love, hands roaming all over, until she eventually pulled away. He watched her, waiting for her cue, and to his surprise she turned her back on him. She looked over her shoulder at him as she slowly sank to her knees and got on all fours, and he swallowed hard. She didn’t say a word, just stared at him in invitation, and he dropped to his knees behind her. He ran one hand up her back in a loving caress, as the other moved between her legs and felt for her entrance, and she lowered herself onto her forearms and spread her legs to give him better access. He positioned himself and pushed slowly inside, and she was so wet that he slid in easily. Aware that this position allowed for deep penetration, he paused once he was fully sheathed, allowing her time to adjust. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her. She moaned softly as he filled her, and he bent over and kissed her shoulder-blade in response. Then she nodded, and he straightened up and took hold of her hips, and began to move.

At first he took it slow, thrusting gently, but soon that wasn’t enough for her anymore and she began to push back against him on each thrust, seeking deeper penetration. He got the hint and began to put more force into it, and she hummed her satisfaction. He watched her carefully, cataloguing each shift in her expression, but she was clearly enjoying it from the way her hands bunched in the blanket and her inner muscles gripped him on every thrust. “Yes. Faster,” she murmured, and he obediently sped up. She reached between her legs to work her clit, once more pushing back against him. “Harder,” was the command this time, and he finally let go of his restraint and pounded into her with everything he had. Their gasping breaths filled the air, accompanied by the sound of his balls slapping against her as he slammed into her over and over, striving to give her everything he could, everything she wanted, until he was sheathed in sweat from the exertion. His fingers dug into her hips, holding on for dear life, and he could feel her juices begin to seep down his thighs and knew she was getting close, so he reached down and found a nipple, and rubbed his thumb over it a few times, and then she orgasmed, convulsing around him, her back arching, and the arousal flooding from her. She came long and hard, and he wrapped an arm around her middle to keep her up, to steady her as she soared on her climax, continuing to thrust to prolong it for as long as he could. And when he came too, a few thrusts later, he could feel a second, more gentle orgasm ripple through her, and he pressed his face between her shoulder blades and breathed her in.

-0-

As they lay entwined together in the aftermath, languidly basking in their afterglow and the warmth of the fire, she traced her finger through his beard and said, “We never talked about what happens now.”  
He sighed, enjoying how tactile she was, how she touched him at every opportunity. “I’m sorry, Raquel, but there is no way I’ll get it up again tonight,” he quipped, glancing sideways at her, and she laughed and lightly swatted his chest.  
“Mm, I’m actually sorry to hear that,” she retorted, and it was his turn to laugh. God, she was such fun.  
Then she turned serious once more. “But I was actually referring to the slightly longer term,” and he could detect a hint of apprehension behind the words.  
He turned his head to look at her, all levity gone, and reached out to entwine his fingers with hers. Truth be told, he had been thinking about this ever since the very first time they had made love, and he had a plan all worked out. He hadn’t said anything, afraid that he would scare her off, but now he laid it out for her.  
“There’s an island in the Pacific – the locals call it Palawan. It is rumoured to be beautiful – a tropical paradise,” he said, watching her reaction closely. Why did she look so worried? “With our gold we can go there, and find a house right on the beach. Wouldn’t you like that – to live by the ocean?”

It was her turn to sigh, but the melancholy that had enveloped her did not diminish. “It sounds idyllic, and I can’t think of anything I want more, but…”  
No. Please. There could be no ‘but’. He wouldn’t allow it; he would find a way around it. He waited anxiously for her to continue, too scared to say anything. “But I have a daughter, and a forgetful mother, and I can’t expect you-“  
He was so relieved that this was her concern, something that was completely in his control, that he didn’t even let her finish. “So we take them with us,” he declared, and she stared at him, wondering if she’d heard right.  
“You’d cross the ocean with a mother, a daughter and a grandmother, and start a new life on some island?” she said disbelievingly, and he smiled gently as he looked at her.  
“Yes. Yes, I would,” he confirmed, and she could tell that he meant it, and it was almost too much. He loved her enough to take her with all her baggage, and it was overwhelming. She blinked rapidly against the tears that threatened to well up, and reached up to kiss him, filled with gratitude and very much looking forward to this new life that awaited her.

-0-

_27 November  
_ They departed for Lisbon the next morning. Marseille would not come with them – it was too risky for him to return to Spain and continue as an agent, so he had chosen to remain with the Resistance group and become a soldier once more. Raquel was actually sad to split ways with the big man and his dog; over the last year she had come to rely on their reassuring presence in her life. But more than that, they had become friends, and shared a mutual admiration for each other. After they said their goodbyes, Raquel went off for a last toilet break, and Marseille fixed Sergio with a stern look. “I leave her in your care now – don’t fuck up,” he said, and Sergio couldn’t help but smile.  
“I think, Marseille, you’ll find that it’s more likely her that will take care of me.” He was only half-joking; Raquel was turning out to be one of the strongest people he had ever known.  
Marseille did not laugh, though. “She has been through a lot of shit, Professor. I think it’s time that someone else be the strong one for a while. She could do with a break.”  
It was an astute observation and Sergio sobered; Marseille turned out to be a lot more perceptive than he had given him credit for. He held out a hand, a determined look on his face, and nodded. “I give you my word,” he said solemnly, and the two men shook hands. And then it was time to go, and they got into the car that would take them on the first leg of their journey. As it drove out of the village, everyone came out of their houses and lifted their hats in a _chapeau_ as they passed, honouring them for what they had done. It was an unexpected and moving gesture, and Raquel slipped her hand into Sergio’s and swallowed against an upwell of emotion.

-0-

_27-30 November  
_ They made their way along the foot of the Pyrenees, working west towards the coast, towards Biarritz. They were passed along an invisible chain of the Resistance, along a tried and tested route used to smuggle Jews out of reach of the Nazis and to the relative safety of Portugal. They used various modes of transport – cars, lorries, horses, and for a stretch even a donkey cart, handed over from one cell to the other by the Resistance. Wherever they went, they were treated with the utmost respect, as word of their audacious deed spread like wildfire before them. And finally, after three days of almost constant motion, they reached the harbour in Biarritz, where a fishing boat flying the Portuguese flag awaited them. Their escort informed them that boats under the Portuguese flag were one of the safest to travel in, as neither side in this war wanted to antagonise this neutral country and make it join forces with the other. Sergio made a mental note of that – he still needed to secure them a passage to that far-away island, and this bit of information might just have provided him with the solution to that particular problem.

The captain showed them to a bench in the lee of the wheelhouse, out of the wind, and they huddled together under a blanket and watched the town slowly disappear beyond the horizon. The diesel engine throbbed below their feet as the small boat turned and began to run south, parallel to the distant land. Raquel shivered and he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his side. “Cold?”  
But she shook her head. “No,” she said, and he understood then that it had been a reaction to something else; the realisation that this journey was a rite of passage, from one life to another, and that nothing would ever be the same again. It was scary and exciting in equal measure, and they watched the soil of Spain slide by slowly. There was San Sebastian, where he had been born and his father had been killed, for instance. He knew that he would not be able to set foot there again for as long as the Franco regime lasted, and who could predict how long that would be in these uncertain times? His thoughts went to his brother, fighting the Germans somewhere on the French border, and he hoped that Andrés would get his wish, to die an honourable death rather than slowly waste away like their mother had done. The thought brought a tear to his eye and he wiped at it, sniffing quietly, but Raquel still noticed and burrowed into his side more tightly. She seemed to have the ability to read his mind, to know what was ailing him without him saying a word, and for a man who had trouble expressing his feelings that was comforting. God, how he loved her, and for once he found the courage to actually say it. He buried his nose into her hair and murmured the words against her skin. “I love you, Raquel.”

-0-

As they moved ever closer to Lisbon, Raquel was consumed by an almost unbearable longing for her daughter. She couldn’t wait to hold Paula again, to be there for her as a mother once more. The guilt she felt for abandoning her daughter, even if it had been for her own good, came back in full force, and she hoped the prospect of going to live on an idyllic island would make up for it. But as much as she looked forward to the reunion, there was also a shadow at the back of her mind that she had refused to acknowledge until now, a nagging worry she couldn’t shake off: what if Paula didn’t like Sergio, didn’t want to accept him? She didn’t know what she would do if that were the case. “Hey, Sergio?” she said, and he looked down at her. “I think it would be best if I go to see my mother and daughter alone first, explain the situation before I introduce you to them.”  
Apprehension hovered in his gaze and she realised that he had probably been occupied by the same concerns as her. “Whatever you think best,” he agreed, well aware that he had no experience whatsoever with dealing with children or family situations, and gnawed his lower lip worriedly.  
She reached out and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be fine,” she claimed with more confidence than she felt, and won a tense smile from him in response. Shit, she really hoped that it would be; she didn’t think she could give him up, but if he and Paula didn’t get along, that just might be what she would have to do.

-0-

_Lisbon  
_ It was late afternoon when they disembarked in the busy Lisbon harbour, and Raquel hurried ahead towards where the taxis were, suddenly impatient. She wanted to see her little girl, and any slight delay now felt like a huge obstacle. Sergio trudged in her wake, his mind occupied by other things, like their safety. Here in Lisbon, he was not in control of events. It was supposedly neutral territory, but that didn’t mean that the Spanish authorities would not take steps to grab them here. What were the chances that they had figured out Raquel’s involvement? If they had, they might put her mother and daughter under surveillance, gambling that she would want to come to them. So as the taxi wound its way towards the address Raquel had provided, he scanned their surroundings anxiously. Was anyone following them? Was anyone unduly interested in the passing taxi? He did not see anything untoward, but he did not relax. There was too much at stake; if he should lose Raquel now…

When the taxi pulled up in front of the apartment block where Raquel’s family lived, Sergio got out and stood on the pavement across the street, his gaze sweeping restlessly up and down the avenue, registering every person that stood around or sat in a car in the vicinity. When Raquel immediately stepped forward, intent on rushing across the road, he held her back. “Wait,” he pleaded, and she looked round at him with a frown. He gave the street one more sweep before he reluctantly released her, because there was nothing. If there were watchers, they were too good at their job for him to spot them. To his surprise, Raquel reached up and kissed him tenderly. “I’ll come and get you in a bit,” she promised, and he nodded, not trusting his voice in that moment. And then she was gone, hurrying across the road, and into the building and out of his sight. He stared at the door that had swallowed her, as though he was trying to see through, to never lose sight of her, but it remained resolutely shut, hiding her from view. With a sigh he began to turn away, intent on finding a place to sit and wait, when, to his shock, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

-0-

When Raquel reached the apartment, she hesitated. Butterflies filled her stomach, and she couldn’t shake Sergio’s obvious concern out in the street. But in the end her desire to see her daughter won out, and she lifted a hand and knocked. There were footsteps on the inside, and she was aware of a shadow falling over the peephole as someone looked at her, before the door swung open.  
“Hi-“ Raquel’s greeting died on her lips and the smile slipped from her mouth as she was confronted with her husband’s forbidding face.  
“Well, well, if it isn’t my treacherous, thieving wife,” he snarled, before he grabbed her arm and yanked her inside.

_tbc_


	21. Family

_How many times had I been nearly drowned, unable to come up for air, and how many times had I managed to get my head back above the surface? But that was all in the past now, and the days for looking back were past. It was time to concentrate on the present alone, to face it head-on in order to attend to the future.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_30 November  
_ _Lisbon  
_ When Alberto grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her through the door, pain shot through Raquel’s shoulder and she was instantly transported back to the years of abuse she had suffered at the hands of this man. Forgotten was the joy, the love she had experienced in the last month, with a different man, a gentle one, secure enough in his own skin to allow her to be strong, to be brave enough to try and change the world. With one violent act her husband managed to undo all that, to drag her back into the darkness, into the past where she was nothing more than a battered housewife. He shoved her against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath out of her, as he listed her litany of sins in a rising voice. “You fucking bitch. First you lie to me, then you help your conniving friend to steal a hundred bars of gold, and to top everything off you pretend to be another man’s wife! And you fuck him in some hotel in the middle of nowhere, like a cheap whore?!”  
He drew back an arm and she cringed before him, paralysed by fear, by the knowledge of what was coming – the blows, the pain, the humiliation. And yet… It was different, now. She was different. Perhaps it was him mentioning Sergio that reminded her, but she suddenly thought: _I know who I am, and what I am capable of_. One weak, violent man was nothing compared to what she had faced this last month, and survived. No. Fuck him. No more. And when she saw Paula appear in the doorway behind Alberto, that was the last straw. She did not want her daughter to see her cowering in fear before a man.

Raquel straightened to her full height, facing him down with a blazing glare, and he hesitated. Even through his anger he recognised the shift in her, the quiet confidence that shone from her eyes. She was no longer afraid of him, and the knowledge unsettled him. As with all abusers, he got off on the fear, mistaking it for respect, for proof of his superiority, and now that it was no longer there, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. She seemed to sense his confusion, for she said quietly, but clearly, “We’re done, Alberto. I am leaving you. When you get back to Spain, you’ll find the divorce papers waiting for you.” She took a shaky breath, and added, “I won’t be your punching bag anymore.”  
He stared at her, unable to believe his ears. She was leaving him?! After ruining his career and his reputation, she now had the gall to declare she was leaving him?! No-one left Alberto Vicuña, and his face distorted in a snarl. He grabbed her around the throat with one hand and yes, finally there was the fear again, flooding her eyes as she scrabbled ineffectively at his arm, gasping for breath. Behind him Paula screamed, “No, Papa! You’re hurting her!”, but he didn’t care. All these years he had been careful not to let his daughter see his real face, but that was forgotten in the blind fury that had hold of him now. He would fucking kill Raquel before he let another man have her; not because he loved her, but because he saw her as his possession, a mere object. She tried to kick out at him and he squeezed harder, fuelled by the choking sounds she was making, and his other arm pulled back, hand balled into a fist, intent on smashing it into her face.

-0-

 _Five minutes earlier  
_ Sergio watched Raquel disappear into the building, unable to shake this feeling of unease that had been with him ever since their arrival in Lisbon. But there was nothing out of place, nothing concrete that he could point to to back up his concerns, and he couldn’t keep Raquel away from her family without good reason – he knew how much she had missed them. He sighed and turned away, looking for a place to sit, when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and he froze. Oh, shit. Something was wrong – her family was being watched, and sheer terror gripped him. _Raquel._ He had let her walk into a trap alone. He swung round, fumbling for the gun in his pocket – he would do everything in his power to get to her, to help her. He would not give up without a fight-  
“Whoa, Professor! Take it easy,” a familiar voice said, and he found himself face-to-face with a startled Denver. Sergio stared at him, adrenaline still coursing through his veins, and finally became aware that he was gripping the front of the younger man’s shirt with both hands. “…Denver?” he croaked, only now noticing the presence of Raquel’s friend behind Denver’s shoulder, and relief coursed through him. It wasn’t the police, Raquel was okay, and he closed his eyes and took a breath. But when he opened them again and looked at the woman – Mónica – once more, his relief evaporated. She was agitated, and unceremoniously pushed past Denver to get his attention.  
“He’s in there,” she blurted, and his heart began to hammer in his chest.  
“Who?” he asked, but he already knew.  
“Alberto. Her husband. He’ll kill her,” Mónica said in one breath. “We have to do something-“ But she was talking to air, for Sergio was already sprinting across the road. She and Denver looked at each other, then rushed after him.

Sergio burst into the foyer, then halted, realising he had no idea which apartment Raquel’s family was in. Luckily her friend did. As Mónica steamed through the door behind him, she noticed his dilemma and called, “First floor,” as she made to pass him and go for the stairs. But he was off again and led the way up, taking the stairs two at a time. When he exited on the first floor, he did not need to wait for instructions once more, for the commotion reached his ears from a door that stood ajar about halfway down the corridor. As he sprinted towards it, he heard a child’s anguished voice – _No, Papa, you’re hurting her_ – and the sounds of a desperate struggle, and a cold fury enveloped him. There was no longer any sign of the calm, rational man he usually was as he burst through that door and took in the scene before him. Raquel was in trouble, and that was all that mattered. The man had her by the throat and he charged forward, slinging his arm around the bastard’s neck and unerringly finding the artery that transported blood to the brain, and squeezed. He was vaguely aware of a little girl watching him with eyes as round as saucers, of Denver rushing in through the door, brandishing a gun, and of Mónica following close on his heels. And Raquel, gulping in air and slowly sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, angry red finger marks adorning her neck. But alive, thank God. Only then did he become aware of the man struggling under his grip, of his eyes rolling back in his head and his knees giving way. He let go, not caring when the man crashed to the floor heavily, out cold, and stepped over him to kneel by Raquel’s side.

“Raquel,” he breathed, pulling her into his arms and cradling her against his chest, and she clung to him desperately, her gaze fixed on the prone man lying behind him.  
“Did you kill him?” she rasped through her protesting windpipe, and the tone of her voice suggested that that would not necessarily be a bad thing.  
“No, just rendered him unconscious. He’ll come round in a couple of minutes,” he clarified, and became aware of the girl hovering behind him.  
“Mama?” she said in a small voice, and Sergio released Raquel so that she could scoot over and envelop her daughter in her arms.  
“Paula, honey, it’s fine, I’m okay,” she consoled, hugging her tightly. “God, I’ve missed you,” she added, kissing Paula’s face and beaming despite everything that had happened, and that more than anything reassured the girl, and she beamed back and threw her arms around her mother. Sergio observed the reunion and his heart melted in his chest, moved by how joyful it was. Finally the tension in him released, and he slumped against the wall, suddenly shaky as the adrenaline in his bloodstream began to subside. She was okay; Raquel was really okay.

In the confusion he had clean forgot about Denver and Monica, but the younger man now stepped forward and prodded the unconscious man with a boot. “What should we do with him?”  
Sergio turned to Raquel, who looked to her daughter. “Paula, where’s Grandma and the others?”  
“They went to the shop.”  
She turned back to Sergio. “Tie him up – I’m going to make a phone-call,” she said, and he knew she was going to call her contact from British Intelligence.  
As she disappeared towards the living room, Sergio became aware that the girl was studying him curiously. When she saw him looking at her, she said, “Hello.”  
“Er, hello.” He shifted uncomfortably under her unblinking scrutiny.  
“You saved Mama,” she declared, and he shrugged helplessly, suddenly realising that she had just seen him assault her father. With good reason, of course, but still. It wasn’t the best first impression a man could make. “And you hugged her,” she added, and to his consternation he felt himself blush.  
“Uh, yes, I did,” he mumbled, and behind him Denver laughed, enjoying the Professor’s discomfort.  
“Are you dating Mama?” Paula continued; unfortunately for him, she had obviously inherited a great wallop of her mother’s persistence, and he decided that honesty would probably be the best policy.  
“Yes,” he admitted, and looked up to see Raquel standing in the door, listening to the exchange with some trepidation.  
Paula digested that, but at least she didn’t seem put off by the thought. “Have you asked her?” she queried innocently, then added, “My friend Sofia says a boy have to ask you,” and he was filled by a rush of endearment for her childlike logic.  
“Oh, uh, no…” he fumbled, “but we’ve kissed, and that’s almost the same, no?”  
Raquel’s eyes widened and he panicked; had he overstepped some unknown boundary by telling her daughter that? They both watched Paula worriedly, but she merely nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation.  
“Oh.”  
And then, to Sergio’s boundless relief, there was a knock at the door.

-0-

After that matters developed quickly. The knock on the door announced the arrival of two unknown men, bearing a stretcher, who wordlessly loaded the unconscious, bound man onto it and disappeared again.  
“What are they going to do with him?” Mónica asked, and Raquel shrugged. “Deposit him back across the border, then leave him to make his own way back to Madrid.” She did not bother to disguise her satisfaction at the discomfort this whole process would subject him to. Then she turned to Sergio. “That means we have two, maybe three days to get out of here.” And here too her Intelligence contact proved to be of use, as he put them in contact with the captain of a Portuguese container ship, who agreed to take them on board and take them as far as India. And once all this had been done, they could finally sit down with Mónica and Denver and catch up. Sergio frowned at Denver. “You were supposed to meet up with your father and leave Lisbon as soon as possible, according to my plan,” he pointed out, his disapproval tempered by the knowledge that Denver’s presence had helped him prevent serious injury to Raquel.

Denver glanced at Monica and laughed nervously, and was that a faint blush on his cheeks? Raquel tilted her head, looking between the two, a sneaky suspicion beginning to form in the back of her mind. If she could find love in the midst of this mad caper, why not Mónica too? “Well, uh, Mónica’s pregnant, you know, and I didn’t want to leave her alone until I was sure you guys got here,” he hedged, and Mónica looked down with a small, secretive smile that told Raquel everything she needed to know. Mónica and Denver were sleeping together, just as certainly as she and Sergio were. Denver was not exactly the type she would have expected Mónica to go for - she would have thought his limited intellectual capacity would have put her friend off, but when he looked at Mónica with earnest devotion she realised that he had the one quality Mónica would crave right now – loyalty. He would be there for her and the child, and he wouldn’t care that it was not his flesh and blood. Yes, Denver was precisely what Mónica needed, and she smiled at her friend and nodded, showing her that she knew what was going on, and that she was happy for her.

The next hurdle came a few minutes later, when her mother and relatives returned from their shopping. Marivi dropped her bag with an exclamation of joy when she saw Raquel, and rushed over to embrace her. Raquel clutched her tight and squeezed her eyes shut; there was nothing quite as comforting as a mother’s embrace, she realised, and resolved to hug Paula at least once a day from now on, to make up for all these months that her daughter had had to make do without that comfort. When they finally parted, Marivi looked at her daughter anxiously. “My darling, Alberto is here,” she warned, and Raquel glanced at Sergio. Perhaps it would have been prudent to lie, but she didn’t want to. She had always told her mother everything, and she wanted to share her newfound happiness with her, too.  
“Not anymore,” she said laconically, and Marivi looked between her daughter and the three strangers quizzically. “He’s gone back to Madrid,” Raquel explained, “because I’ve filed for a divorce.” She watched her mother worriedly, not sure how she would take the news. Divorce was uncommon among Marivi’s generation; even when a couple could no longer stand each other, they would stay married and simply live separate lives. And she wasn’t sure that her mother even remembered that Alberto abused her, so maybe she would disapprove of Raquel’s decision. She was aware of the tension radiating from Sergio behind her, as well, as he also waited with bated breath for Marivi’s reaction. If she disapproved of the divorce, she would most certainly also disapprove of Raquel’s relationship with him.

There was a long pause as Marivi stared at her daughter whilst she processed the unexpected news, but once the implications sunk in, a broad smile broke out on her face and she pulled Raquel into another hug. “Thank God,” she breathed, “you should have left him a long time ago.” She pulled back and smoothed Raquel’s hair out of her face before framing it with both hands. “It’s time you found a man who won’t be afraid to treat you like an equal,” she added, and Raquel’s heart overflowed with joy. But before she could say anything, Paula piped up.  
“Does it count if he saves her, Grandma?”  
Oh, shit. Raquel’s gaze jumped to Sergio, and she saw him swallow nervously.  
“What’s that, dear?” Marivi asked, and Paula continued, oblivious to her mother and Sergio’s panic.  
“Papa was hurting Mama, and then he came in and saved her,” she explained, pointing to Sergio, who looked like he might pass out. “And he is dating Mama now, because they’ve kissed,” she divulged, and Raquel closed her eyes helplessly. So much for breaking the news gently to her mother.  
“Yes, thank you, Paula,” she interjected, trying to take back control of the situation, before looking at her mother with some trepidation. “Mama, this is Sergio,” she said, “my new, uhm, friend.” Then, after a beat, she amended, “My partner,” and reached out to take Sergio’s hand and pull him up next to her.  
He smiled nervously. “Hello.”

Marivi studied her daughter more closely after these revelations, and for the first time noticed the angry red marks around her neck, and her own throat constricted in fear and anger. For years she had feared that one day Alberto would go too far and seriously injure Raquel, or even worse, and evidently that day had arrived. But apparently this man, standing so timidly next to her daughter, had intervened, and for that he would have her eternal gratitude. But she did not only notice the marks Alberto had left on Raquel; she also recognised something she hadn’t seen in her daughter for the longest time – a glow of happiness, an unguarded smile, and her heart warmed towards the man who had given that back to her girl. As a child and a young woman, Raquel had always had a sunny disposition, and it had broken her heart to see it slowly disappear under the yoke of the abuse. But now, it seems, her real nature was coming to the fore once more, and it made Marivi a little misty-eyed. She beamed at the new man in her daughter’s life, and Raquel knew then that everything would be okay.  
“How wonderful,” her mother enthused, “I can tell you are a good man, and that is what my daughter needs – a good man to love her, and to make love to her.”  
“Mama!” Raquel admonished, as Sergio blushed scarlet, perhaps remembering some of the things he and Raquel had done, and she reached up to caress his cheek in apology. But now it was time to sit her family down and tell them it was time to go, to leave Europe for the island of Palawan, and she decided on full disclosure. She would tell them everything, so that they would start this new life with a clean slate, and with no secrets between them, and that was exactly what she did.

-0-

The ship left the next day, and they stood at the railing and watched the land slowly slide away as it made its way out of the harbour and into the Atlantic. Denver and Mónica stood on the pier and waved them off, with a firm commitment to come and visit once Raquel and Sergio had found a house, and Raquel was glad of that; whilst she didn’t mind saying goodbye to most of her old life, she wanted to keep hold of her friendship with Mónica, who had been there during her darkest days. Besides, how wonderful it would be for them to spend time together, now that they had both found love. She sighed, and Sergio looked towards her, to find her smiling wistfully. When she noticed his scrutiny, she slipped her hand into his and leant into his side, and he smiled too.  
“Are you ready, then?” he asked, “For a new start?”  
She nodded, without the slightest hesitation. “Yes. I’m ready.” And then she sealed the words with a kiss.

_tbc_


	22. Peace

_Then he embraced me, and in the tenderness and heat of our closeness I felt with absolute certainty that this was another mission at which we would not fail.  
_ **_María Dueñas, The Time in Between_ **

_One year later  
_ _Palawan  
_ Sergio sat at the large dinner table on the patio and watched the three women in his life laugh together, happy and relaxed, and he smiled. The world was still at war, but he was at peace. Living here in paradise it was easy to forget about the conflict raging halfway around the world, but of course they had a vested interest in keeping tabs on developments. Apart from what they read in the papers, they also received the odd telegram from Marseille, informing them about the latest developments in Spain. Apparently, after the loss of the gold, General Franco’s interest in entering the war had waned considerably, and a year later there was still no commitment from Spain to assist Germany in any way. It brought both him and Raquel a great sense of accomplishment, to know that their audacious heist had not been in vain, that they had managed to influence events in their own small way. But it was not only that knowledge that affected his state of mind; there were also the developments on a more personal level. He was in love, and he got to share his life and his bed with the most wonderful woman he had ever known. He looked over at her and caught her eye, and she smiled at him, crinkling her nose in that way he found so adorable.

They were settled on the island of Palawan, in a house right on the beach, and for the first time since he was eight, he was part of a family once more. Paula and Marivi had accepted him into their lives without fuss, and he counted his lucky stars every single day. Things could have been so different… They had enough money to live comfortably, but even so they had both found jobs that they loved and that made them feel useful. He taught History at the local university, and Raquel helped run a charity that assisted battered women to get away from their abusive husbands and to start new lives elsewhere. When they had first arrived here, she stayed home, having to look after Paula and her ailing mother, but Sergio had been determined that she would not just be a housewife in her new life. So the first thing he had done was to find a carer for Marivi, and a good school for Paula, and once it became clear that they were both settled and well looked after, he had begun to encourage Raquel to find something for herself, something that would fulfil her. He was proud of her, of the difference she was making in these women’s lives, and each time he saw the satisfaction she derived from her work, he knew that it had been the right choice to push her to spread her wings.

Of course, even here in paradise there were dark clouds, and he knew that her mother’s failing memory was a source of great sorrow for her. He understood better than most the helpless feeling when someone close to you became ill, and there was nothing to be done. Andrés, at least, was free from suffering now, for a few months after their arrival here they had received word from Marseille that Andrés had fallen in battle. He had apparently sacrificed his own life to save those of some of his comrades, and even though Sergio had been heartbroken at the news, his grief had been tempered by the knowledge that his brother had got to end his life on his own terms, in a blaze of glory, rather than to ignominiously waste away from an incurable disease. Raquel had been there to hold him, to console him, and he made sure that he did the same for her on those days when her mother’s illness got her down. These things, though, did little to diminish their happiness. They were together, they were in love, and life was good.

He watched on as Raquel reached out to cup her daughter’s cheek, laughing at something the girl had said, his gaze lingering on her slender fingers. She was a sensual woman, his lover, and tactile; she was always touching those she cared about. It was one of the things he loved most about her, for like a man who had wandered through the desert for years and finally found water, and now could not get enough, he craved to be touched, to be caressed, after so many years of almost no physical intimacy. And he certainly could not complain on that score, for they made love on an almost daily basis, insatiable for each other. At first, when it had dawned on him just how much she liked to have sex with him, he had worried that he would be unable to satisfy her. But he soon realised that his body had no problem in responding to her – she could turn him on with one word, one touch. No, getting aroused for her was certainly not a problem. In fact, he was well on the way at that particular moment, for the day had been hot and she was wearing that short, white dress that he loved, and no bra. When she moved in a certain way, he got a glimpse of the dark ring of her areola, and the outline of her nipple through the white, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away. And he realised that she was aware of it, too, when she stretched her back for the third time, deliberately pushing her breasts against the thin material. When he finally managed to lift his eyes to hers, there was the hint of a smirk hovering around her mouth and he knew, it was going to be one of those nights where they lost the few inhibitions they still had with each other, and fucked with total abandon. She could read his thoughts, apparently, for she stood suddenly and announced crisply to Paula, “Come on then, missy, time for bed,” and everyone followed her example and said their goodnights. When she walked by behind him, she trailed her fingers through his hair and over the sensitive skin at the back of his neck, and by now he recognised the gesture as a sign that she was feeling incredibly randy, and his cock twitched in anticipation. What a fool Alberto Vicuña had been, to not let this woman feel secure enough to allow her passionate nature free rein. As Raquel ushered her mother and daughter into the house and toward the wing where their rooms were, he stared unabashed at the way her buttocks moved under that dress as she walked away from him, until she was out of sight. Only then did he get up himself, already half-hard, and hurried to their room at the other side of the house. Tonight he would give her something else her idiotic ex-husband had never wanted to – oral sex.

The night air was cool and fresh after a late afternoon rain shower, and he drew open the screens to expose the view to the beach and the night and the stars. At first, when they had moved into this house, he had felt a bit like an exhibitionist, to sleep in full view of anyone who might wander past on the beach, until he realised that the house was sufficiently elevated above the level of the beach to be hidden by the trees. He stood for a moment, listening to the sound of the waves, before he moved around the room to light the candles Raquel had placed all over. Next he went over to the sturdy wooden dresser and removed everything from its surface, then dragged a footstool closer to it. For he had a plan for this night; he was determined that by the end of it she would barely remember her own name. Once everything was just as he wanted it, he stood in the middle of the room, facing the door, and waited.

-0-

Raquel entered not long after, and as she walked through the door she said, “Paula’s out like a light; our day on the beach has really tuckered her ou-“  
She didn’t get any further, as Sergio stepped up to her and captured her mouth, his tongue demanding entrance immediately. Her lips opened under his without hesitation, and her hands came up to cup the back of his neck and snake into his hair. They kissed hungrily, deeply, and his hands sought out the hem of her dress and pulled it up and over her head, their mouths breaking apart only for the split-second required to get the dress off. As they came back together she grabbed hold of the lapels of his shirt and yanked it open, sending the buttons skittering all over, then pushed it off his shoulders and to the floor. They were both naked from the waist up now, and she pressed against him, seeking the stimulation of his coarse chest hair against her erect, sensitive nipples. After a minute or so of amorous kissing, he wrapped an arm underneath her buttocks and picked her up, then turned round to deposit her on the dresser.

He pulled back a little to look at her, to run his heated gaze over the glorious sight she made, almost naked and aroused and perched on the dresser, and she used the opportunity to loosen his trousers and shove it down his hips, using her toes to push it down until gravity took over before she pulled his head back to hers for another searing kiss. He ran his palms up her thighs in response, seeking out the sensitive softness of her inner thighs. She moaned into the kiss and spread her legs to give him better access, and he made use of it with some alacrity, running his fingers over her skin until he reached the barrier of her underwear. When he found it already damp with her arousal, it was his turn to groan into her mouth as he cupped her and began to rub the material against her folds. She wrenched her mouth from his to gasp in pleasure, and watched with a wicked glint in her eyes as he hooked the foot stool closer and settled on it, between her legs.  
“You’re rather keen tonight,” she observed as he slipped a finger into her underwear, no longer satisfied to touch her through the material.  
“And whose fault is that?” he countered, looking up at her. “One more of those back stretches and I would have ripped your dress off right there at the table.”  
It was an arresting picture and she felt another rush of moisture seep from between her legs, and lifted her hips so that he could pull off her soaked underwear and toss it to the floor.  
“No you wouldn’t have,” she said as he moved into position and hooked her legs over his shoulders, for she knew that despite their sometimes torrid sex life, her man was rather conservative at heart. It was only here, in the privacy of their bedroom, that he forgot about those constraints he put upon himself.  
He pressed her legs further apart, his gaze darkening at the sight before him, at her curls glistening with the essence of her arousal. “No, I wouldn’t have,” he agreed distractedly, rubbing his beard against her inner thigh, “but I would certainly have dragged you off to the room to have my way with you.”  
That image was the last straw, and she lost the last shred of control she had left. “A little less talking, darling,” she ordered, unceremoniously grabbing his glasses off his face and shoving his head down between her legs, and he obediently shut up and set to work.

Raquel leant back against the wall and weaved both hands into his hair, making a mess of it as she massaged and caressed his scalp in reward when he pressed his tongue against her and started off proceedings with one long, hard lick. _Oh yes…_ Sergio gave great head; he had come a long way since that first uncertain fumblings in the hotel in Minglanilla. As he licked and sucked and occasionally nibbled, she pondered how lucky she was to have fallen in love with a man that had a thirst for knowledge. She had realised after a few weeks here in Palawan, that he approached their sex life with the same dedication and meticulous preparation that he did one of his heists. When he had surprised her with a few new moves, she had asked where he’d learnt it, and he had blushed scarlet and mumbled something about an ancient Chinese text, but refused to elaborate any further. She had let it go, content to be the very satisfied recipient of his newfound knowledge, and grateful to have a partner that took the trouble to catalogue her responses to the different moves he made, and to remember which ones brought her the most pleasure. And as if to prove her point, he did something different, something new once more: as he pushed two fingers inside her, he squeezed at the base of her clit with the thumb and forefinger of the other hand, pushing the bundle of nerves out of its hood, then scraped his beard over it, before sucking it into his mouth and biting down gently, and she nearly flew out of her skin. A keening noise escaped her as her hands tightened in his hair and her back arched, and a current of electricity shot through her. Holy fuck, what was that?! Molten lava pooled in her abdomen, and she heard her own voice as though from afar, pleading _Oh God yes, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop,_ and he did it again and again, and the lava spread to her breasts, setting her nipples on fire, and then it filled her vagina and spread down her thighs, until she felt like her very blood was burning. She bucked violently, pushing herself deeper onto his fingers, and he scraped his teeth over that sensitive bud one last time, and she shattered. It felt like she was falling into an abyss and soaring over the highest mountain at the same time as she orgasmed violently, shuddering under his hands.

He stood and hooked his arms under her knees, and opened her legs wide, then entered her in one hard thrust as her orgasm still rampaged through her, and her upper body snapped forward and she threw her arms around his neck as the sensation of him filling her prolonged her orgasm. He waited until her inner muscles no longer clamped onto his cock in a death grip, then thrusted once, twice, and it was enough to cause a second orgasm to rip through her. “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, her breath harsh in his ear and her heart hammering against his chest, and when he tried to thrust again she gripped his hair painfully and gasped, “Wait, just wait,” and he kept still, riding out the spasms buried deeply inside her. His body was trembling in anticipation, begging for its own release, but he waited, worried that she might have a stroke or something if he made her orgasm for a third time, and they stayed locked together as the shockwaves rippled through her and finally began to subside. She returned to earth, to her own skin, to the feeling of his cock filling her, and she ran her tongue around the shell of his ear. He was of average length, but he was thicker than Alberto had been, with the result that he filled her to the brim when he was inside her. It made the friction of his thrusts all the more exquisite, and she had quickly become addicted to it, to being filled up by him. She craved it, thought about it often, and couldn’t get enough of the sensation. She supposed the time would come when she became used to it, when she would no longer be bewitched by it, but it was not this day. Today, it still felt like magic, and she bucked against him to let him know that she was ready.

She could see the relief in his eyes when she looked into them, and pulled his head to her to kiss him, sucking on his tongue in the way he liked in wordless thanks for his patience. For she could feel him throb inside her, and knew that he was close to the edge, that he was in that rock-hard state he reached just before ejaculating. This was going to be fast, hard and messy, and she felt the heat begin to pool in her abdomen once more in anticipation. As she continued to suck on his tongue, he pulled her hips forward, to the edge of the dresser, and pushed her knees up and to the side, as wide as she could tolerate, and she released his mouth then to lean back once more, to arch her back and brace her shoulders against the wall. “Come on then,” she invited brazenly, gazing at him from under heavy lids, “give me all you’ve got.” Sergio needed no second invitation. He planted his feet apart for more leverage, grasped her hips tightly, and began to thrust. He pulled out until only the tip of his cock remained inside her, then lunged forward with his full weight behind it, plunging himself inside her to the hilt, again and again. Her breasts juddered with the force of it and he stared, mesmerised by their supple movement. Raquel gasped on each thrust, a barely audible “Ah!” of pure pleasure, and it spurred him on even further. He had lost every last shred of his famous self-control; he was operating on his basest instinct, driven wild by lust and arousal. There was no rational thought involved, only the desire to bury himself inside her over and over, to feel the incredible friction of her tight walls all over the sensitive skin of his cock, to hear the wet, sucking sound as his length slid in and out of her, lubricated by her essence seeping out of her and onto his thighs.

This was heaven; it was his nirvana, his religion and oblivion. Here there was no war, no death, no disease. There was only this woman he loved so much, and this state of ecstasy they created together. He looked into her eyes, letting her see into his soul as the tingling began at the base of his spine, then spread through his buttocks, his stomach and his balls, and finally swept over his whole body and he came, splashing reams of semen all over her walls. Even as he soared on his release, he was vaguely aware that she had not yet fallen over the edge with him, and leant forward to suck one peaked nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue around and over the stiff bud, and that was enough to push her over. She contracted around him, milking him for every last drop of his seed, and he held onto her, cradling her body against his as they rode out the aftershocks of their orgasms, breathing hard. His legs shook with the force of it, and he picked her up and staggered backwards until he reached the bed, and collapsed onto it, with Raquel draped over his chest, senseless after her third orgasm. He managed a small, satisfied smile, convinced that he had achieved what he had set out to do; that she would struggle to come up with her own name if asked right then. And then he drifted off to sleep himself, worn out and sated, and blissfully happy.

-0-

_The next four years  
_ As for the war, it progressed more or less in the way that Raquel had predicted. Adolf Hitler, not satisfied with conquering most of Europe, made the fatal decision to also invade Russia in June 1941, overstretching his troops who now had to fight on two fronts. The war raged on, drawing ever more countries into the conflict, and almost a year to the day that Raquel and Sergio had left Europe behind, the Japanese attacked the US fleet at Pearl Harbor and dragged the United States into the war. They joined forces with Britain and its allies, and began to provide the much-needed weaponry and manpower to allow the British to begin to turn the tide. As the Germans began to falter in the bitter Russian winter during December of 1941, and the Russians started to push them back, Sergio and Raquel both knew that it was the beginning of the end. Even so, it took three more years of bitter fighting before the Allied Forces managed to establish a foothold in Europe, with the D-Day invasion in June 1944, and another year before it ended. Adolf Hitler, realising that all was lost, killed himself on 30 April 1945, and Germany surrendered a month later, on 7 May.

In the end, Spain never entered the war.

When news of the peace reached Palawan, it was early evening and the family had just finished dinner. As the others celebrated around them, Sergio and Raquel shared a quiet moment, looking at each other and smiling. They had played their part in these world events, and even though it would never be recorded in any of the books that would be written about this war, they knew that their actions had helped to shape the course of history. The world would forever be changed by the war, as would the two people at the heart of this story. If not for it, they would never have met, and never have fallen in love. They would not have made their home on an island paradise, and be deliriously happy and in love still, five years later. As Sergio contemplated all of this, Raquel got up and walked by behind him, and as she did so, she trailed her fingers through his hair and across the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. Many things had changed in the world over the last five years, but some things had not. The passion that had burnt so bright between them had been tempered by the passage of time, but it had most certainly not been completely doused. On many occasions it flared as hot as ever, and it was a comforting thought, to know that not only their love, but also the physical attraction between them, had stood the test of time. He smiled and, half-hard already, got up and followed Raquel to their room.

It was going to be one of _those_ nights.

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


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